#She would have done rounds on Tumblr

[edwardallenpoe]

it's so strange seeing people being secretive and shit about reading fanficrion like it's a taboo that you read in the clandestine meetups at 3am in your bed, because I've been reading fanfiction at the ripe age of Way Too Fucking Young (seriously I think I learned my abc's two months prior) and I'm also the very talkative type of autistic so. It is very safe to say everyone I know KNOWS I read fanfiction. If I'm on my phone for more than ten minutes around any given family member they ask if I'm reading fanfiction. They're wrong sometimes. Bc I also write it.

[cuntyji]

MEOW OR NEVER ౨ৎ GETO SUGURU X READER

summary: when your mom told you to steer clear of men, you didn't think she meant all of them - fur, whiskers, and all. but hey, maybe naming your cat mr. pickles was where you went wrong, considering she's apparently a mrs. now. and oh, she's pregnant. great. just fantastic. enter suguru geto, your drop-dead gorgeous neighbor, who's not just good at stealing glances but also at being a reluctant father - well, kitten father. turns out, his annoyingly smug orange menace named gojo's the reason you're now an unplanned (grand)parent. is this co-parenting arrangement going to end in peace, or in pieces? or worse, feelings? spoiler alert: suguru geto's got more than just child support to offer, and he's about to prove it in ways that'll have you questioning who the real stray here is.

warnings & tags: fluff and crack, eventual romance, no angst, geto is a year older than reader, geto is an (international) law student implied to be rich, reader's college program is not specified, strangers to friends to lovers, eventual smut (oral, f & m + 69). cast: geto, catoru (gojo is a tabby cat), yaga, sukuna, choso, yuuji, shoko, brief mention of utahime and nanami.

author's note: how i feel adding a graphic after not touching any editing apps since eight grade: 🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺. first long-fic on here and it is obviously for my @norikuna <3 i had so much fun writing geto, i hope you like this, and yes i named her mr. pickles after your meet-cute fic/s. ‼️ i recommend reading on ao3, as tumblr's formatting this fic very poorly and often times the fic has long paragraphs mashed together. i'm so sorry, but please enjoy!

chapter one: guess who's expecting (hint: it's not you)

when your mother warned you to stay away from men, you didn’t realize she meant all species of men. in your defense, you didn’t even know mr. pickles was…well, a dudette. a full-fledged woman, even.

judging by her usual air of indifference toward the struggles of life—whether it be a broken mug, burnt toast, or the existential dread and fear of capitalism looming over you—you’d assumed she was male. an assumption, it seems, born of sheer hubris. after all, you’d done thorough background checks on everyone else you let into your life. everyone except the stray cat that had waddled into your overpriced studio apartment one rainy night and decided it was hers.

the truth? you didn’t mind. between cramming for your degree and surviving the post-mortem of your relationships (both romantic and platonic, because apparently humans are terrible at consistency), mr. pickles became the one reliable constant in your life. albeit a hairy, aloof constant who occasionally brought you hairballs and dead bugs as sacrificial offerings to her goddess. you, of course, were said goddess.

any normal, functioning adult would have taken her to a shelter, or maybe put up a flyer: “found: one stray cat, bad attitude included.” but you, lonely soul that you were, took her in. except, it hadn’t been that simple. no, the first night you met her was anything but serene.

you were drunk. plastered. wobbling through the door with a bag of takeout in one hand and your heels in the other, ready to collapse onto your bed and dream about a life where rent didn’t cost your soul. but instead of an empty apartment greeting you, there she was. sitting smack in the middle of your living room like some furry squatters’ rights advocate, tail flicking with utter disdain.

you froze, still holding the doorknob, as your eyes locked with hers.

"what the—" you whispered, blinking hard to confirm you weren’t hallucinating. nope, she was real.

the cat let out a long, guttural “yeowwwwwwwwwl,” like she was just as horrified by you as you were by her.

you screamed. naturally. "who are you?! how did you get in here?! security’s supposed to be good—oh my god, is that a rat?"

she screamed back, launching into an impressive round of yowls that rattled your very bones. it became a chaotic symphony of you, still holding your takeout, pointing at her with your shoe, while she darted back and forth in an apparent panic over your panic.

"okay, okay," you gasped after what felt like hours but was probably five minutes. "just—calm down! i’ll call the cops or animal control or—do i even know animal control’s number? is that a thing people know?!"

the cat paused mid-panic, tilting her head as if considering whether you were worth the hassle. then, slowly and with the grace of a self-proclaimed queen, she sat back down.

you stood there, panting, wide-eyed, and still clutching your takeout like a lifeline. "are…are you done? can i move now?"

she gave a single chirp in response.

you blinked. "was that a yes?"

another chirp.

"okay, cool. good talk," you muttered, inching toward the kitchen counter to set your stuff down. "you know, you really picked the wrong apartment to haunt, bro. you don’t wanna hang out here."

she followed you, hopping onto the counter with zero hesitation.

"oh, you’ve got nerve," you grumbled, waving a hand. "get down. that’s…oh my god, is that chicken grease? you’re gonna get salmonella. do cats get salmonella?"

the cat meowed, which you took as a very sarcastic no.

you sighed. "great. now i’ve got a cat."

let’s rewind back to the future, to the moment you found out mr. pickles had a party of tiny paws brewing in her belly. it wasn’t an epiphany that hit you like a bolt of lightning—no, it was a series of increasingly bizarre events that gradually chipped away at your ignorance until the horrifyingly adorable truth came crashing down.

first, let’s talk about “pinking up.” apparently, around 16-20 days into pregnancy, a cat’s nipples turn pinker and more prominent—a fact you learned after a very awkward google search. not that you were actively inspecting mr. pickles’ nipples. that felt…wrong. but you did notice, eventually. the weight gain started subtly, a little extra fluff around her midsection that you brushed off as the result of switching to a premium brand of cat food. "guess the organic kibble’s working," you mumbled one evening as mr. pickles sprawled on the couch like a spoiled heiress. she blinked at you, unimpressed, before rolling onto her side, belly on full display. it was… rounder than usual. suspiciously so. but denial is a hell of a drug.

then came the morning she beat you to the bathroom. literally.

you were nursing a wicked hangover, the kind that makes you reconsider every life decision leading up to the night before. groaning, you dragged yourself out of bed and toward the bathroom, only to freeze in the doorway. there was mr. pickles, perched in your shower cubicle, hurling her guts out like she’d been partying harder than you. "what the—" you started, but she cut you off with another violent retch. you just stood there, slack-jawed, your own nausea momentarily forgotten. "are you… hungover? can cats be hungover?" she ignored you, finishing her business before hopping out of the shower with a nonchalance that screamed you’ll clean that up, right?

and the sleeping? don’t even get started on the sleeping. mr. pickles, your once lively (read: temperamental) companion, now spent her days passed out in the weirdest positions. you’d leave for class, catch her sprawled upside down on the couch with her legs in the air, and come back hours later to find her in the exact same spot. the first time it happened, you panicked. 

“mr. pickles?” you whispered, crouching beside her. no response. 

"oh my god, are you dead?" you poked her back. nothing. 

just as you were about to call your landlord and have him prepare for the worst, mr. pickles let out the laziest, most judgmental yawn you’d ever heard.

then came the personality shift. the mr. pickles you knew—the one who hissed at your laptop every time you opened it, as if microsoft word had committed a personal offense—was gone. in her place was a clingy, purring ball of affection. she started curling up on your lap while you worked, purring loud enough to rival an industrial saw. “awwww, who’s a good kitty?” you cooed, melting into the moment. and then she shed enough fur on your clothes to build a second cat.

but the final straw, the one that shattered your fragile understanding of reality, was the nesting.

you came home one evening to find mr. pickles frantically rearranging your laundry basket, clawing at the clothes and dragging them into a fluffy pile. she paused when you entered, her eyes wild with an intensity you’d never seen before.

"uhh…what are you doing?" you asked, only to be met with a deep, guttural growl. "okay, that’s new," you muttered, backing away slowly. "you do…whatever that is."

it hit you then. the weight gain, the puking, the clinginess, the nesting. oh my god.

"oh my god," you whispered, clutching the counter for support. "mr. pickles is a girl."

your world tilted. memories of every time you called her sir or buddy flashed before your eyes. you were the problem.

you rushed her to the vet the next day, bursting through the door like a contestant on a reality show. "she’s been acting weird," you blurted to the receptionist. "and by weird, i mean…is she pregnant?"

one checkup later, the vet turned to you with a warm smile and uttered the words that changed everything: “congratulations, you’re a mother.”

your jaw dropped. "what? no. no, i’m not. she’s—she’s the mother!" you gestured wildly to mr. pickles, who was now lounging on the exam table like this was all very boring. the vet chuckled. “well, technically, that makes you a grandmother.”

a grandmother. you, a college student, were a grandmother.

as you drove home in stunned silence, mr. pickles stretched out in the passenger seat, her belly looking smugly round. you glanced at her, still reeling.

“does this mean i have to start calling you mrs. pickles now?”

she purred. of course she purred.

chapter 2: welcome to parenthood, kinda

the day after the vet visit, you were a woman on a mission. holding mr. pickles up like she was a fragile artifact, you found yourself wandering the corridors of your apartment building, knocking on doors and attempting to uncover the truth behind your feline’s unexpected condition. sure, your mother raised you single-handedly, but did that mean you had to take on the role of a cat grandmother solo? absolutely not.

the first stop was masamichi yaga, your landlord. you weren’t sure why you started with the most intimidating person in the building, but desperation has a way of clouding judgment. his door creaked open, revealing the towering man himself, wearing a slightly bemused expression. “uhh …good morning, mr. yaga,” you stammered, clutching mr. pickles tighter for moral support. “i—uh—wanted to ask…do you have a cat?” he raised an eyebrow. “a cat?”

“yeah,” you said, awkwardly adjusting your grip on mr. pickles. “because, um, she’s pregnant, and i was wondering if—well, you know…”

yaga blinked at you for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. “no, i don’t have a cat. the only thing i house around here is pandas.”

you stared at him, waiting for the punchline that never came. “...pandas?”

“yup. no cats.”

you decided not to press further. “right. okay. thanks, anyway.” you shuffled away, cheeks burning, as he closed the door behind you with a definitive click.

next, you made your way to choso’s apartment. you’d seen the guy a few times in the hallway—tall, always dressed like he’d just walked out of a corporate ad, with an aura of quiet exhaustion that screamed salaryman. when he opened the door, he looked down at you with mild surprise, a coffee mug in one hand. “hi,” you greeted, feeling oddly self-conscious under his gaze. “i, uh, have a question. do you happen to own a cat?”

choso blinked, glancing at mr. pickles, who let out a disinterested meow. “no, i don’t.”

“are you sure?” you pressed. “because my cat is pregnant, and—”

“i’m sure,” he cut in gently, though his tone held the same weariness you felt every monday morning. “i barely have time to take care of my brothers, let alone a pet.”

“brothers?”

“yeah.” he took a sip of his coffee. “one of them’s a high schooler. the other one…well, he’s sukuna.”

you froze. “wait. sukuna? as in, the scary guy with the tattoos who glares at everyone when he smokes in the hallway?”

choso nodded. “he’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

you had your doubts but decided not to argue. “right. okay. thanks anyway.”

your next stop was shoko’s apartment. you’d always admired her cool, no-nonsense vibe, but the dark circles under her eyes told you she probably didn’t have time for a pet. still, you knocked. when the door opened, shoko stood there, looking like she hadn’t slept in three days but somehow still pulled it off effortlessly.

“hey,” you said, trying to sound casual. “do you have a cat?”

“a cat?” she repeated, leaning against the doorframe. “no. i’m barely home enough to keep my plants alive, let alone a pet.”

you nodded, biting back a sigh. “yeah, that makes sense.”

“why?” she asked, eyeing mr. pickles. “is she yours?”

“yeah. she’s pregnant.”

shoko raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “congrats, grandma.”

“don’t remind me,” you groaned. “thanks anyway.”

lastly, you tried suguru geto’s apartment. according to the building’s handbook, he was your neighbor on the floor above. but when you knocked, there was no answer. “great,” you muttered, glancing down at mr. pickles. “our prime suspect isn’t even home. what now?”

mr. pickles responded by squirming in your arms, clearly unimpressed with your sleuthing skills.

defeated, you trudged back to your apartment, where the reality of impending grandmotherhood sank in further. with no leads and no one to pin the blame on, you flopped onto your couch, setting mr. pickles down beside you. she stretched lazily, looking far too pleased with herself.

“this is your fault, you know,” you muttered, pointing a finger at her. she responded with a purr, curling up into a fluffy ball of indifference.

great. just great. looks like you were in this alone—again.

evening rolled in, and with it came mr. pickles’s dinner time. lately, you’d been overly cautious about her diet and mood—the whole pregnancy thing and all—but tonight? tonight she was testing your last nerve. there she was, stationed by the door like her life depended on it, yowling dramatically with an almost operatic flair. her tail flicked like a metronome, her cries growing more pitiful by the second. “oh, come on,” you groaned, setting her food bowl down with an exasperated sigh. “what’s with you tonight? you’ve eaten like, three times already.”

mr. pickles, naturally, ignored you, clawing at the door with all the determination of someone who just had to get out. “fine,” you muttered, stomping toward the door. “but i swear, if there’s a stray out there, you can explain yourself, motherf—”

you flung the door open mid-rant and promptly froze.

standing in your doorway was a man. a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome man with long, silky black hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck and bangs that framed his angular face like he’d just stepped off the cover of handsome landlord quarterly. he wore a plain black sweater, dark trousers, and an expression that was equal parts bemused and apologetic. but your attention snapped to the cat he was holding aloft—an orange tabby with piercingly bright blue eyes that were somehow both smug and indifferent at the same time. “uh…hi,” he said, his voice deep and smooth with an edge of uncertainty. “this yours?”

“that’s…not my cat,” you managed, pointing awkwardly at the tabby.

“figured,” he said, glancing past you into your apartment where mr. pickles was now peeking out, her ears perked and tail bristled like an antenna. “he’s mine. name’s gojo. found him sitting outside my door screaming his lungs out, so i thought maybe…” his words trailed off as his gaze flicked between you, mr. pickles, and gojo. then, realization dawned on his face.

“wait.” he looked at mr. pickles, then back at you. “is your cat…?”

“pregnant?” you supplied flatly. “yep. as of about a week ago, thanks for asking.”

geto—because of course you’d figured out that this very handsome man was suguru geto from the floor above—blinked, visibly processing this information. “huh,” he said finally, his brow furrowing as he glanced at gojo. “but…gojo’s neutered.”

“what?” you blurted, staring at the smug orange tabby who looked anything but neutered. “yeah, had it done ages ago.” geto tilted his head, clearly as baffled as you. “so how the hell…?” you pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache blooming. “you’re saying there’s no way it could’ve been him?”

“not unless he figured out how to reverse a neuter,” geto said dryly, his lips twitching in a bemused smile. you both looked at the cats the—gojo, lounging smugly in geto’s arms, and mr. pickles, glaring daggers from the safety of the couch. “okay,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. “if not gojo, then who? because i don’t exactly let her out, and she’s been acting weird for weeks.”

“well…” geto began, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “he did sneak out a couple of times last month, but i didn’t think—”

“oh my god,” you groaned, cutting him off. “are you telling me your supposedly neutered cat is actually some kind of feline lothario who managed to knock up my cat on one of his escapades?”

“it’s not like i planned this,” geto defended, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. you shot him a look, but before you could respond, gojo meowed loudly, almost like he was bragging. “great,” you muttered, throwing your hands up. “just great. now i have to deal with kittens, rent, and figuring out how the hell to co-parent with the guy next door who can’t keep his cat under control.”

geto chuckled, his dark eyes twinkling with genuine amusement. “well, if it helps, i’m pretty good with kids. or kittens, in this case.” you stared at him, incredulous. “this isn’t funny.”

“oh, come on,” he teased, his smirk widening. “it’s a little funny.” you groaned again, retreating into your apartment. “this is a nightmare.”

“or an adventure,” geto countered, stepping back into the hallway with a casual wave. “let me know if you need any help. babysitting, moral support, whatever.” and just like that, he was gone, leaving you with a very pregnant mr. pickles, a smug orange tabby, and far too many questions about how you’d managed to land yourself in this ridiculous situation.

-

the realization hit you as soon as you pressed "send." oh no. oh no, no, no. 

did you really just text suguru geto—your neighbor, a man who likely had better things to do than deal with your ridiculous antics a demand for child support? for cats? you flopped face-first onto your couch, groaning into a throw pillow. “what the hell is wrong with me?” mr. pickles, lounging on the armrest, flicked her tail and let out a smug little chirp, as if she’d orchestrated the entire debacle. “you’re no help,” you muttered, rolling onto your back to glare at her.

but it was too late now. the text was sent, sitting in geto’s inbox like an uninvited guest at a party. you imagined him reading it, probably over a cup of coffee in his immaculate apartment upstairs, eyebrows raised in disbelief before muttering something like, what the hell is this?

“what was i expecting?” you asked the ceiling. “a courtroom? with gojo cat wearing a tiny tie and confessing his sins?” mr. pickles yawned, completely uninterested in your spiral.

“ugh,” you grumbled, standing up. “whatever. it’s his problem now.”

-

bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, you shuffled to the door the next morning to grab the newspaper. the universe owed you at least one boring morning after last night’s embarrassment. but as you opened the door, your sleep-deprived brain screeched to a halt. there, sitting on your front porch, was a 5kg bag of premium cat food, the kind you’d seen in the store once and immediately walked past because it cost more than your monthly grocery budget. “what the…” you muttered, crouching down to inspect it.

taped to the bag was a folded piece of paper with the words “child support :)” scrawled in smooth, confident handwriting. beneath the note was what looked suspiciously like a paw print in ink. you squinted, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. “no. absolutely not. did he—did they actually ink up the cat for this?” you glanced down the hallway, half-expecting geto to pop out from behind a corner and yell “gotcha!” but it was eerily quiet. mr. pickles, who had wandered over to investigate, sniffed the bag and let out an excited meow, her tail curling in approval. “of course you’re happy,” you said, picking up the note and reading it again. “this is like winning the lottery for you.”

you flipped the paper over, looking for more, but that was it. just “child support :)” and a smug paw print. “oh my god,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “he’s good. he’s really good.” you set the bag inside and grabbed your phone, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard. what were you even supposed to say to this? thank you? an apology for being unhinged?

before you could overthink it, a new message lit up your screen.

geto: hope this helps. let me know if you need anything else. gojo says hi.

you stared at the message for a long moment, torn between laughter and mortification.

“what do i even say to that?” you asked mr. pickles, who was now trying to claw her way into the bag of food. she didn’t respond, obviously, but you took her enthusiasm as a sign to type out the least embarrassing reply you could muster.

you: thanks. mr. pickles says hi too. sorry about the text, was half-asleep. really appreciate this though.

a reply came almost instantly.

geto: no problem. wasn’t sure how much to get, so i just grabbed the fanciest one. figured she deserves it.

you snorted, shaking your head. “what are you, cat royalty?”

mr. pickles let out a pleased chirp, pawing at the bag triumphantly, and you couldn’t help but laugh. whatever this situation was, at least mr. pickles was happy. and, okay, maybe suguru geto wasn’t completely terrible either.

you thought life couldn’t get more ridiculous after the whole “child support” stunt. but somehow, suguru geto managed to raise the bar so high that it was practically doing pull-ups in the stratosphere. because when you stepped out of your apartment to grab some fresh air and regroup after being up all night with a cuddly mr. pickles, you realized geto had turned this entire ordeal into a neighborhood event. “did he… throw a party without telling me?” you muttered to yourself, narrowing your eyes as you spotted a small, hand-decorated sign taped to the landlord’s door. it read: "congrats to the new parents: gojo & mr. pickles!”

“new parents?” you said aloud, incredulous.

as if summoned by your confusion, choso’s door creaked open, and yuuji popped his head out, looking entirely too enthusiastic for such an early hour. “hey, neighbor! did you see the banner?” you blinked at him. “banner?” 

yuuji pointed down the hallway. you squinted and, sure enough, there it was — a banner strung across the hallway ceiling that read: "welcome baby kittens!!!" in what looked like glitter glue. “oh my god.” you pressed a hand to your forehead. “he didn’t.”

“he totally did!” yuuji grinned, stepping fully into the hallway. “he came by earlier and told me about gojo being a dad. so cool, right? i mean, gojo’s kind of an idiot, but hey, every cat deserves a shot at fatherhood.”

“yuuji,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “he’s not an actual dad. this isn’t a sitcom. it’s just…biology.” yuuji shrugged. “biology, destiny, same thing. oh, by the way, geto dropped off cookies! want one?” you looked down and noticed yuuji holding a plate of cookies shaped like tiny cats.

“what the—did he bake these?”

“nah, i think he bought them,” yuuji said, biting into one. “but still. pretty neat, huh?” you groaned, muttering, “neat isn’t the word i’d use.”

just as you turned to head back into your apartment and escape the madness, there was a loud, insistent scratching at your door. you froze. “don’t tell me…”

yuuji, still chewing on his cookie, pointed. “that’s probably gojo. he’s been making rounds all morning trying to visit your cat. i think he’s really taking this fatherhood thing seriously.” you stormed to your door and there he was—gojo cat, gojo the cat, his bright blue eyes wide and hopeful as he pawed at the doorway like a love-struck romeo. “oh, for crying out loud,” you muttered, scooping him up and holding him at arm’s length as you entered your house. “what do you think you’re doing?” gojo meowed pitifully, his tail flicking as he looked past you toward mr. pickles, who was curled up on her blanket, looking utterly unimpressed. “she’s not interested, casanova,” you told him, turning to yuuji. “can you take him back before he climbs my curtains again?” yuuji laughed, taking the cat from you. “no problem. come on, gojo. let’s give her some space.”

as yuuji disappeared down the hall with gojo, you closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a long sigh. but before you could even sit down, your phone buzzed.

geto: hope you’re enjoying the festivities. gojo’s a little excited, but who can blame him? parenthood changes you.

you stared at the message, your eye twitching.

you: i'm one sleepless night away from snapping. please stop turning my life into a hallmark movie.

geto: don’t be shy. you’re the real hero here, grandma.

you groaned, tossing your phone onto the couch. mr. pickles, who had been watching the entire ordeal with an air of feline superiority, let out a small, smug purr. “don’t you start,” you told her, flopping onto the couch. “at least it’s a long weekend.” but deep down, you knew there was no such thing as peace—not when suguru geto and his ridiculous orange menace were involved.

-

suguru geto was not having a good day.

he sighed, leaning back against his couch as the familiar hum of embarrassment settled over him. gojo cat, sprawled across the armrest, gave a half-hearted meow, probably to mock him. he’d woken up to him scratching at his front door like a lunatic, yowling for his morning ritual of inspecting the hallway for signs of mr. pickles. the normally smug and self-satisfied orange menace had been acting weird for days—restless, meowing at windows, and straight-up bolting every time geto so much as opened the front door. it had taken geto exactly one trip downstairs to realize why.

you. or more specifically, your cat.

geto hadn’t even known you had a cat until he’d knocked on your door last week, with mr. pickles in the background like some furry empress. now, not only did he know, but he also had the dubious honor of being the grandfather of mr. pickles’ unborn kittens. “how did it even come to this?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the glittery “welcome baby kittens!!!” banner he’d put up in the hallway. he knew he was making things worse for himself, but honestly, it was better than sitting in his apartment, spiraling. he sighed, looking down at gojo, who was perched on the armrest of the couch, lazily licking a paw. “you couldn’t just chill, could you?” geto said, narrowing his eyes at the cat. “no, you had to go and ruin my already complicated life. do you know how awkward this is? do you?”

gojo blinked at him, clearly unbothered. “of course you don’t,” geto muttered. “you’re a cat.”

the thing was, geto had genuinely thought he’d be cool about this whole situation. sure, it was a little weird to be co-parenting kittens with the girl he’d had a hallway crush on for months, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle it. except he wasn’t handling it. he’d told yuuji. he’d told yaga. he’d even left cookies for shoko. and now half the building knew about gojo’s escapades. “what am i doing?” he groaned, leaning back on the couch and covering his face with his hands. “you know, this is all your fault,” geto muttered, glaring at the cat. gojo, unbothered, blinked lazily.

geto had been a lot of things in his years of life—student, aspiring lawyer, occasional cat dad—but one thing he wasn’t was smooth when it came to you. you, the girl from another department who lived one floor below him. you, the one who always looked like you belonged in a wes anderson movie, with your half-hidden smiles and humour. you, who somehow managed to make even the most mundane hallway interactions feel like they had a gravitational pull. geto groaned, pressing his palms into his face. he was this close to becoming a tragic cliché. 

it wasn’t like he’d never tried to talk to you before. he had. there was that one time in the campus library, where he’d psych himself up for twenty minutes only for you to leave before he could string a coherent sentence together. or the time in the cafeteria when he thought about offering you a seat at his table but chickened out because he was certain his friends would tease him for weeks. “this is what rock bottom feels like,” he muttered to himself.

he wasn’t even supposed to live in this building. as an international law major with a full schedule and internships on the horizon, he should’ve been in one of the fancier complexes closer to campus, but fate—or sheer bad luck—had landed him here. not that he could complain. not when you were his downstairs neighbor. he had always figured you were out of reach, though. you had this aura of being completely in your own world—poised, a little reserved, but not in a way that came off as unapproachable. more like you were quietly observing the chaos around you, letting it wash over you like a passing breeze. and he’d been content to admire you from afar. well, mostly content. but now? there was a knock at the door. 

geto froze.

“please don’t let it be her,” he whispered, praying to whatever higher power might be listening.

it was you. standing in his apartment building, holding a note he wrote about “child support.”

“hey,” you said, holding up a piece of paper. “you forgot this.”

“oh,” he said dumbly. “right. thanks.”

you stepped inside, looking around at the various cat-themed decorations geto had somehow acquired in the past 24 hours. “so… big fan of cats, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. geto felt his face heat up. “uh, yeah. something like that.” you smirked, crossing your arms. “you know, you didn’t have to go all out like this. it’s not that big of a deal.”

“not a big deal?” geto repeated, incredulous. “your cat is having kittens with my cat. that’s, like… monumental.” you rolled your eyes. “they’re cats , geto. not royal heirs.”

“still,” he said, crossing his arms defensively. “i’m just trying to be responsible here.” you looked at him for a long moment, and geto swore he saw the tiniest flicker of amusement in your eyes. “responsible?” you repeated. “is that why you’ve turned our hallway into a petting zoo?” geto opened his mouth to argue but stopped when gojo jumped down from the couch and strutted over to you, rubbing against your legs like the shameless flirt he was. “traitor,” geto muttered under his breath. you crouched down to pet gojo, a small smile tugging at your lips. “well, at least someone knows how to make a good impression.” 

geto stared at you, his brain short-circuiting. “uh, yeah,” he said finally. “he’s… he’s good at that.” you stood up, brushing cat fur off your hands. “anyway, thanks for the food. mr. pickles appreciates it.”

“no problem,” geto said, trying to sound casual. “you know, if you ever need help with… anything, just let me know.” you raised an eyebrow. “like what? cat parenting classes?”

“sure,” geto said, shrugging. “or, you know, anything else.” you gave him a long, considering look before finally nodding. “i’ll keep that in mind,” you said, turning to leave. “thanks, grandpa.”

geto groaned as the door closed behind you. “what am i even doing?” he muttered again, looking down at gojo, who had jumped back onto the couch, looking entirely too smug. the cat meowed, as if to say, you’re welcome.

chapter 3: first we stalk, then we brunch

later in the evening, you found yourself huddled under your comforter, laptop balanced precariously on your knees. mr. pickles was curled up at your feet, occasionally flicking her tail, as if silently judging you. you ignored her. tonight, you had a mission: to do a deep dive into the enigma that was suguru geto. you weren’t proud of yourself, okay? but curiosity had officially killed the cat—or at least put her temporarily out of commission. like any sensible person armed with curiosity and internet access, you turned to linkedin. not instagram, not facebook—linkedin. because nothing screams “serious investigation” like stalking someone’s professional achievements. “let’s see what we’ve got, mr. pickles,” you muttered, typing “suguru geto” into the search bar on the holy grail of professional snooping. mr. pickles perched regally at the foot of your bed, her gaze judgmental as ever. “don’t give me that look,” you muttered. “i’m doing this for you.”

within seconds, his profile loaded up, and your jaw practically hit the floor.

suguru geto wasn’t just good-looking. oh no. he was an overachiever of the highest order. his profile picture was annoyingly perfect: a candid (but totally staged) shot of him sitting at a café, holding a cup of coffee in one hand while looking thoughtfully into the distance, as if he’d just solved world hunger. his headline read:

suguru geto | international law student | aspiring global policymaker | passionate about justice and equality

“ugh,” you groaned, scrolling further. “passionate about justice? who is this guy?” his bio didn’t help matters. it was filled with phrases like ‘dedicated to fostering positive global change’ and ‘committed to bridging the gap between policy and implementation.’

“committed to being annoyingly perfect, maybe,” you muttered, side-eyeing mr. pickles. she let out a half-hearted meow that you chose to interpret as agreement. his experience section was even worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it. a summer internship at the UN where he ‘assisted in drafting resolutions and collaborated with member states on sustainable development initiatives.’ worked as a legal intern at some fancy law firm with a french name you couldn’t pronounce, where he ‘focused on international human rights cases, with a specific emphasis on refugee protection.’ not to mention being a volunteer coordinator for a charity in sri lanka, where he ‘organized relief efforts and distributed supplies to displaced families during the holiday season.’

“okay, mr. pickles,” you said, glancing at the unimpressed feline. “this guy’s either a saint or a robot.” what shocked you most wasn’t his saintly résumé, but the fact that he went to the same university as you. you stared at the screen, stunned. “how the hell did i not know this?” his “education” section confirmed it:

bachelor’s in international law | current student

active member of the debate team and global policy forum

that explains it, you thought. you were a year younger and in an entirely different department—he probably had his head buried in treaties while you scrambled through your own projects. still, the idea of suguru walking the same hallways as you sent your mind reeling. “was he in the cafeteria when i spilled coffee on myself that one time?” you wondered aloud. as you continued scrolling, you stumbled upon his posts. his posts swung wildly between annoyingly inspirational and oddly endearing.

the first was a very cheesy, slightly-too-polished “ringing in the new year” post, complete with a stock photo of fireworks and an unnecessarily long caption: ‘as we close the chapter on another year, let us remember the power of community and resilience. cheers to 365 days of growth, learning, and striving for a better world!’

“uggghhh, gag me,” you snorted, though you couldn’t help but admire how polished it all was.

then there was a post featuring none other than gojo cat sprawled on a cushion, mid-snore. the caption read: ‘cats are not just pets—they are companions, teachers, and sometimes, our greatest confidants. thank you, gojo, for reminding me to appreciate the little joys in life.’

“confidants? really?” you muttered, holding back a laugh. “what secrets are you sharing with your cat, suguru?” the pièce de résistance, however, was a post about his recent trip to sri lanka. it included a photo of him kneeling next to a group of kids, all of them smiling brightly, while he held a giant sack of rice. ‘spending christmas eve here has been a humbling experience. giving is not just about material wealth but about offering hope and kindness. #holidaygiving #payitforward’

“oh, come on,” you groaned. “who even has time for all of this?” mr. pickles let out an approving meow, her ears twitching at the picture. “not you too,” you sighed. just as you were about to close the tab, a final post caught your eye. it was from a few months ago: a blurry picture of the university quad, with a caption that read: ‘sometimes, it’s the quiet moments on campus that remind you why you started this journey. grateful for this space, these people, and this path.’

“quiet moments, huh?” you mused, leaning back against your pillows. “maybe he’s not all bad.” mr. pickles let out a disapproving chirp, as if to say, focus on the fact that he’s responsible for my current condition, thank you. and just when you thought you’d seen it all, there was his international cat day post. gojo cat lay sprawled in the background, his belly exposed, looking utterly unbothered. geto had written an almost poetic ode to feline companionship. ‘in a world filled with noise, cats remind us to listen to silence. they are the quiet guardians of our souls.’

you couldn’t help but snort. “quiet guardians? mr. pickles, your baby daddy is a poet now.” mr. pickles gave a soft chirp, as if to say, better him than some nobody. “fine,” you relented, closing your laptop. “maybe he’s not terrible. just… annoyingly perfect.” but as you lay back against your pillows, a nagging thought lingered: why had he never said anything? you’d walked the same hallways, shared the same campus, yet he’d never even made a passing hello. was he too busy, or something else? either way, you weren’t sure whether to be impressed or annoyed. probably both.

-

suguru geto prided himself on being polished and refined. and he had standards okay? he wasn’t some creep skulking around in the shadows. he was a man of composure, logic, and discipline. but all of that went out the window when it came to you. he is also an upstanding citizen who just happened to know your spotify account, which he checked semi-regularly. for research purposes, obviously. it started innocently enough—getting your instagram handle. no big deal. he hadn’t even followed you right away, worried it might seem weird coming out of nowhere. it was all very calculated: a "friend of a friend of a classmate of a third cousin" pipeline that eventually led him to your public page. a click here, a scroll there, and boom—your instagram aesthetic was forever seared into his memory.  but social media wasn’t enough. no, geto was too curious (and maybe just a bit too pathetic) to stop there. this led him to your spotify.

now, he didn’t just stumble upon your spotify profile by chance. this particular treasure hunt began at a house party at the start of the year. utahime had made a collaborative playlist for everyone, and while everyone else just added their favorite songs, geto decided to dive deep. deep as in scrolling through over 150 accounts connected to the playlist just to find yours. “there it is,” he had muttered triumphantly back then, his lips twitching into a satisfied smile. “gotcha.” and from that moment, your spotify profile became his guilty pleasure. your profile picture at the time? a blurry photo of what looked like you holding a glass of wine at some fancy rooftop bar. but the playlists were the real treasure.

your “gym rat” playlist was his favorite, with high energy tracks, peppered with one or two questionable choices. seriously, why was there a taylor swift song in the middle of your workout playlist? your “in the clerb, we all cryin’” playlist was interesting to say the least, comprising of indie ballads, heart-wrenching acoustics, and, for some reason, a single abba track. then there was “road trip,” featuring everything from funky throwbacks to an absurd number of songs by chappell roan. “you’ve got taste,” geto muttered to himself, clicking into the playlists one by one. “questionable taste in some areas, but still…” he often scrolled through your profile aimlessly, not necessarily looking for anything new, but just existing in your world, even if it was through music. tonight, he found himself back on your page, like some kind of masochistic ritual.

his eyes drifted to his chrome tabs, where your spotify was bookmarked for easy access. it was right there, sandwiched between his email inbox, an online soba delivery menu, an article titled “10 Tips for Acing Your Next Law Internship” and a tab about international trade law regulations. “no new playlists,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair. your gym playlist hadn’t been updated in six months (“what happened to your gym rat era?”), and your grwm playlist was untouched. “slacking, hm?” gojo cat, perched on the edge of the desk, gave him a slow blink. “boring night for you too, huh?” geto sighed dramatically, glancing over at gojo cat sprawled on his lap. the feline barely flicked an ear in response. “don’t look at me like that,” geto said, narrowing his eyes at the feline. “this is completely normal behavior. i’m not stalking. i’m just… maintaining a healthy level of interest.”

“it’s not creepy,” he justified aloud, more to himself than to anyone else. “it’s resourceful. i’m just staying informed.” gojo cat stretched lazily, letting out a yawn that sounded suspiciously judgmental. “oh, don’t start,” geto shot back, tapping lightly on the cat’s head. “you’re the reason i even know her in the first place.” geto’s eyes flicked to your “gym rat era” playlist again. still untouched. “what happened to that, by the way?” he asked no one in particular. “gave up? hit your personal best and retired early?” gojo cat pawed at the corner of his laptop, as if trying to close it.

“hey, no,” geto said, swatting the cat’s paw away gently. “i’m in the middle of something important.” his finger hovered over the profile picture you’d updated—something blurry and vaguely artsy. probably taken at a bar or café. he debated clicking it but stopped himself. what was he expecting? some secret hidden bio like “hey, stop creeping”? he sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “i’m not weird, right?” he asked the cat.

gojo, being a cat, offered no answer.

“right,” geto muttered. “this is perfectly reasonable. i’m just… interested. it’s not like i’m walking past her door at 3 a.m. or something.” a fleeting daydream crossed his mind—what if the two of you had a shared playlist? something intimate and special, where you both added songs and left little comments. “‘thinking of you when i added this,’” he mused in a mockingly cheesy tone, shaking his head. “god, what am i, thirteen?” still, the thought lingered, making him smile despite himself. just as he began to close the tab, a notification popped up.

[beef_boss_69 has followed you.]

his entire demeanor shifted. “beef boss? beef boss?” geto practically spat the name out. “who the hell—what kind of username is that?” he clicked on the profile, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the new follower. it was a faceless account, with no playlists or followers of its own. “oh, great,” he grumbled. “a bot. or worse, some guy who thinks he’s funny.” he glanced at gojo cat, who looked thoroughly unimpressed. “don’t give me that look,” geto said, pointing at the cat. “you’d be upset too if some guy named beef boss was muscling in on your territory.” gojo cat chirped, which suguru took as a sign of agreement. “exactly,” geto said, nodding to himself. “i mean, what’s next? chicken king 420? pork prince 88?” 

he sat back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “i should just send the linkedin request,” he muttered to himself. “rip the band-aid off. what’s the worst that could happen?” gojo cat let out a loud meow, almost as if to say, you’re never going to do it. “shut up,” geto shot back, though there was no heat behind his words. he closed your spotify tab, ignoring the way his stomach twisted at the thought of actually interacting with you. maybe tomorrow, he thought. or next week. or the next time beef boss made a move. as he shut his laptop, he made a mental note: tomorrow, he’d work up the nerve to send you a linkedin request. baby steps, right?

-

you weren’t even sure what had pulled you out of bed that morning. was it the ungodly racket outside your door? the growing guilt of not actually reading the paper you insisted on having delivered? or maybe just the suspiciously human-sounding yowls of mr. pickles as she nested in the corner of your room? either way, you’d dragged yourself out of bed, eyes half-closed, hair resembling a bird’s nest, and shuffled toward the door in your favorite—read: most embarrassing—pajamas. and there he was.

suguru geto, standing in front of your door in the crisp morning light, wearing an athletic jacket, sweatpants, and the expression of a man who was absolutely not ready for this level of chaos. attached to his hand was a leash, and attached to the leash was none other than gojo cat himself, strutting like he was the king of the neighborhood. “morning,” geto greeted, his tone breezy but his face clearly betraying some inner turmoil. you blinked at him. “is that… is that a harness?”

“yep.” geto scratched the back of his neck. “gojo here insisted.” as if on cue, gojo cat let out an overly dramatic meow, his bright blue eyes locking onto yours. he looked like a lion surveying his kingdom =—or, more accurately, a spoiled housecat demanding tribute. “you’re taking your cat for a walk?” you asked, still half-asleep and very much regretting this encounter. “yeah, he’s been getting a little… restless,” geto said, glancing down at the fluffball who was now trying to paw at your door. “and by restless, i mean clawing the walls like a maniac at 3 a.m.” gojo cat let out another meow, this one louder, and then craned his neck to peer behind you, as if expecting mr. pickles to emerge in all her pregnant glory. “okay, what’s he doing?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at the cat. “probably hoping to see his baby mama,” geto replied with a dry chuckle. you stared at him, your brain still buffering from the sheer audacity of that sentence. “baby mama?”

“look,” geto started, suddenly looking flustered, “i was wondering if you… i mean, if she … maybe we could —”

“spit it out.”

“do you wanna join us for a walk?” he blurted, his cheeks faintly pink.

gojo cat meowed again, clearly seconding the idea. or maybe he was just demanding that you bring mr. pickles along. you sighed, glancing over your shoulder at the aforementioned queen of your household, who was currently sprawled on her side like a beached whale. “she’s not exactly in the mood for exercise.” “please,” geto said, his tone bordering on desperate. “it might do her some good. and honestly, it might keep gojo from trying to scale your window again.” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “fine. but you owe me breakfast for this.”

“deal,” geto said immediately, his relief almost palpable.

after an embarrassingly long five minutes of wrangling mr. pickles into her carrier—complete with angry hisses and a swat to your hand—you emerged from your apartment, looking like you were about to march into battle. “ready?” geto asked, his smile equal parts charming and sheepish. “let’s just get this over with,” you grumbled, hoisting the carrier while mr. pickles glared daggers at everyone in sight. as the four of you set off, gojo cat kept glancing back at the carrier, chirping softly as if trying to woo mr. pickles through sheer persistence. “he’s really laying it on thick, huh?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “like father, like son,” geto joked, then immediately looked mortified at his own words. you snorted, finally cracking a smile. “careful, geto. i might actually start thinking you’re funny.” he grinned, his confidence seemingly restored. “well, miracles do happen.”

mr. pickles, meanwhile, let out a low growl from her carrier, clearly unimpressed with the whole ordeal. gojo cat chirped in response, pressing his face to the mesh side of the carrier in what could only be described as a show of devotion. “is he always like this?” you asked, watching the ridiculous display. “only when he’s in love,” geto replied, shooting you a look that lingered just a second too long. you pretended not to notice the way your heart skipped a beat. “well, he better not get his hopes up. mr. pickles isn’t exactly the romantic type.” geto chuckled. “guess he’ll just have to win her over.” as the morning sun climbed higher, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this whole ridiculous situation wasn’t so bad after all.

geto meanwhile, was mentally spiraling. he didn’t know what was worse—the “like father, like son” line he’d just dropped on you or the fact that you didn’t immediately burst out laughing and leave him and his ridiculous orange tabby in the dust. instead, you stayed, which only made things harder for him. literally. his heart was pounding so loudly he was sure even mr. pickles could hear it from inside her carrier. he was trying to play it cool, but how was he supposed to do that when his so-called son was busy embarrassing the hell out of him? gojo cat was living his best life, pulling on his leash like a dog on a mission. his blue eyes sparkled with excitement as he trotted beside mr. pickles' carrier, occasionally pawing at the mesh as if trying to “connect” with his beloved. mr. pickles, for her part, was clearly over it. she sat in the carrier like a disgruntled queen, her ears flat and her glare sharp enough to cut diamonds.

“your cat’s persistent,” you said, watching as gojo cat did a full circle around the carrier before flopping dramatically on the sidewalk, belly up, in what looked like a plea for attention. “he’s… special,” geto replied, attempting to reel in the leash as gojo cat kicked his legs in the air, rolling onto his side to stare mournfully at mr. pickles. “gojo, stop being weird.” gojo cat let out a pitiful meow, his paws pressing against the carrier like he was performing some romeo and juliet reenactment. “is this normal?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you crouched to take a closer look. “define normal,” geto deadpanned, tugging the leash again as gojo cat started to nudge his face against the carrier. “he’s just... enthusiastic. about life. and apparently, love.”

“mr. pickles looks like she’s about to murder him.”

mr. pickles, indeed, was having none of it. when gojo cat got too close, she raised a paw and batted at the mesh with a low growl, making geto jump. “okay, timeout,” geto said, scooping gojo cat up with one arm while holding the leash in the other. gojo cat squirmed, letting out a series of indignant chirps as if protesting his removal from the “love of his life.” “you’re really committed to this cat dad role, huh?” you teased, standing back up. “it’s not a role,” geto replied, attempting to adjust gojo cat in his arms as the feline twisted dramatically, his tail flicking with determination. “it’s a lifestyle.” you snorted, and geto decided right then and there that he would endure any amount of humiliation for the sound of your laughter.

meanwhile, gojo cat had decided he’d had enough of the timeout. with a sudden burst of energy, he wriggled free from geto’s grip and made a beeline back to mr. pickles’ carrier. he pawed at it again, letting out a chirp that sounded suspiciously like, notice me, senpai. “jesus christ, gojo,” geto muttered, scrambling to grab the leash. “can you give her some space for five seconds?”

“he’s determined,” you said, your lips twitching as you watched the scene unfold. “i’ll give him that.”

“determined to get us kicked out of the building, maybe,” geto grumbled, finally managing to wrangle gojo cat back.

mr. pickles, now thoroughly fed up, turned her back to the carrier door, her tail swishing in annoyance. she let out a loud, irritated meow, as if to say, enough of this nonsense. “looks like the queen has spoken,” you said, nodding toward mr. pickles. “yeah, well, tell that to this guy,” geto replied, holding gojo cat up like a misbehaving toddler. “i swear, he’s got no chill.”

“takes after his dad, huh?” you said with a sly grin.

geto froze, his cheeks heating up. “i—uh—he’s not my biological—uh…”

you laughed again, shaking your head. 

“relax, geto. i’m just messing with you.” but before geto could recover and try to salvage what was left of his dignity, gojo cat let out another loud meow, squirming in his grip. “great,” geto muttered. “and now i’m the guy whose cat ruins his chance to make a good impression.”

“who said it was ruined?” you said casually, your gaze meeting his for a brief, heart-stopping moment. and just like that, geto decided that maybe—just maybe—gojo cat wasn’t the worst wingman in the world after all.

honestly, when you first saw geto on linkedin yesterday—highlighted internships, connections with every fancy-sounding legal firm, and posts that made him look like a diplomatic demigod—you thought, oh, great. another rich boy who probably orders his coffee by listing ten modifications and has never eaten instant noodles in his life. add gojo cat into the mix, and you were sure this guy was going to be the embodiment of an annoying private school kid, complete with a pet who demanded bottled water and artisanal treats. but this? this was unexpected. geto was, dare you say it, fun. the man actually cracked jokes, didn’t have that holier-than-thou attitude, and seemed genuinely nice. how was he even an international law major? weren’t they supposed to be the glorified MUN kids of society?

“so, what do you think of him?” geto asked, glancing down at gojo cat, who was currently doing his best impression of an olympic sprinter, chasing a rogue leaf across the path. “him?” you asked, smirking. “i think he’s a menace to society.”

“hey, that’s my son you’re talking about,” geto said, mock-offended. “like father, like son,” you shot back, and you caught the faintest twitch of his lips. “you wound me,” geto replied dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d just dealt a fatal blow. you laughed despite yourself. “i mean, am i wrong? you’re kind of a menace too, you know. showing up with that “like father, like son” line earlier.”

“that line was gold, okay?” he said, defensive but clearly holding back a grin. “besides, it worked. you’re still here, aren’t you?” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “you got lucky. i needed some fresh air.”

“ah, so i’m just a side quest for your morning routine. noted,” he said, looking mock-wounded again. “don’t make me regret this,” you said, though your tone was light. but then, of course, you had to spiral. because what kind of person just casually smells like bamboo? why were you even thinking about how he smelled in the first place? no, focus. you were not about to develop a crush on mr. linkedin extraordinaire.

“so, um,” geto started, scratching the back of his neck. you noticed he did that a lot when he was unsure of himself, which was oddly endearing. “did you, uh, happen to notice we go to the same university?”

“oh, i noticed,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “what i didn’t notice was how i never saw you around campus before.”

“i keep a low profile,” he said quickly, a little too quickly. 

“low profile? you? with your fifteen linkedin posts about networking events and charity galas?” you teased. he flushed, and you bit back a laugh at the sight of the ever-composed suguru geto getting flustered. “that’s professional stuff,” he said, looking anywhere but at you. “different vibe.”

“sure, mr. diplomat,” you said, grinning. “but seriously, why haven’t we crossed paths before?”

“well, you’re a year younger,” he mumbled, “and in a different department. plus… i might’ve…”

“might’ve what?” you pressed, leaning in just slightly.

“might’ve avoided you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “avoided me?” you repeated, blinking. “why?”

his face turned a shade darker. “because i didn’t know how to talk to you, okay?” you stared at him, caught off guard by his sudden honesty. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the sound of gojo cat rustling through the bushes filling the silence. “well,” you said finally, breaking the tension with a small smile, “you’re doing fine now.” he looked at you, his expression softening. “yeah, maybe.”

and just like that, the flustered energy transferred to you, because how was this guy suddenly so disarming? you quickly turned your attention to gojo cat, who had now returned, proudly carrying a twig in his mouth like it was some grand prize. “your cat’s weird,” you said, hoping the heat in your cheeks wasn’t too obvious. “takes after his owner,” geto quipped, a little more confidently this time. you snorted, shaking your head. “yeah, well, you’re lucky i don’t scare easy.”

“lucky, huh?” he said, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile.

you groaned inwardly. maybe you were spiraling. if mr. pickles could talk, you’d be subjected to a very long, exasperated lecture right now. and honestly? she’d have a point. because here you were, fumbling in front of what could only be described as a god-sent man—minus his questionable taste in cheesy pickup lines and feline companions. and judging by the way she was scratching insistently against the carrier’s mesh, mr. pickles had had enough. “alright, alright,” you muttered, unzipping the carrier. “but behave, okay? no swatting.”

the minute she stepped out, in all her pregnant, regal glory, gojo cat lost his mind. if there were an olympic event for wooing, he’d be taking home gold, no contest. he was meowing nonstop, his tail flicking like crazy, hopping in excited circles around mr. pickles. “good god,” geto muttered beside you, watching his cat’s antics with a mixture of horror and amusement. “he’s… persistent, isn’t he?”

“persistent? your cat’s acting like he just won the lottery,” you said, watching gojo cat crouch low and wiggle his butt like he was about to pounce. “mr. pickles deserves the best,” geto said with a smirk, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. “she deserves peace and quiet,” you shot back, laughing as mr. pickles calmly let gojo cat have his little moment of excitement before promptly swatting him on the nose.

gojo cat froze, blinking in shock. then, as if nothing happened, he tried again. another swat.

“he doesn’t give up, does he?” you said, shaking your head. “like father, like son,” geto said with a shrug, and you snorted.

“oh, so you’re like that too, huh?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. he froze for a second, his brain clearly buffering. then he laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “i like to think i have a bit more self-control.”

“hmm,” you said, pretending to consider. “debatable.”

“harsh,” geto said, placing a hand over his heart like he’d been wounded. things weren’t any better for geto. watching you laugh at his lame attempts at humor was doing something dangerous to his brain. you were so close, and the way your eyes lit up when you laughed…

he couldn’t help it. he felt the same urge gojo cat must’ve felt—like physically shaking, meowing, jumping, doing whatever it took to make sure you were looking at him. but he was a man with poise (he reminded himself), so instead of resorting to anything outrageous, he blushed furiously, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “you okay there?” you asked, noticing his face had turned an alarming shade of red. “yeah, yeah,” he said quickly, waving you off. “it’s, uh… warm out here.” you glanced up at the sky. it was barely sunny with a light breeze. “sure,” you said, smirking. “totally the weather.”

“don’t call me out like that,” he mumbled, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck again. “you’re cute when you’re flustered,” you said before you could stop yourself, and the words hung in the air for a second too long. his head snapped toward you, eyes wide. “what?”

“i — nothing ,” you said quickly, suddenly very interested in the stray thread on your sweater. “no, no, go on,” geto said, leaning in slightly, his voice teasing now. “what were you saying?”

“i said nothing,” you insisted, but your face was practically on fire. he grinned, leaning back and crossing his arms. “mm-hmm. sure.”

you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “mr. pickles, save me,” you muttered, but she was too busy fending off gojo cat’s latest round of attention to care. and next to you, geto was grinning like an idiot, his blush finally starting to fade as he realized he might not be the only one spiraling.

amidst the awkward giggles and blushes, your stomach decided it had enough of the coy flirting and declared war. a low, awkward rumble escaped, loud enough for both you and geto to freeze. “was that…?” geto began, his lips twitching.

“no,” you lied immediately, your face heating up. “that was probably…gojo.” as if on cue, gojo cat meowed loudly, almost like he was backing you up. but mr. pickles wasn’t having it, her head snapping toward you with a “you’re kidding, right?” look. geto, bless his golden heart, didn’t press further. instead, he scooped up a very indignant gojo, who was in the middle of another extravagant attempt to woo mr. pickles. 

“sounds like breakfast is overdue,” he said, grinning. “my treat, as promised.” you hesitated, watching as mr. pickles, the opportunist she was, pranced toward her carrier with the regal air of a queen boarding her royal carriage. she gave you a look that screamed, what are you waiting for? let’s go, servant.

“uh,” you started, scratching the back of your neck. “so, funny story — i didn’t bring my wallet, and even if i did…” you trailed off, remembering the bleak state of your cashapp. $27.53 stared back at you the last time you checked. it was a miracle you even had that much. “...i wouldn’t be able to afford it.” geto blinked at you, as if you’d grown a second head. “what?”

“yeah,” you said, already feeling the mortifying urge to dig a hole and crawl into it. “i’m, uh, broke. like, hilariously broke. economy, y’know?” you added with a weak laugh. “you think i’m letting you pay?” geto said, looking genuinely offended. “what kind of guy do you think i am?”

“a nice guy?” you offered, unsure where this was going. “no, no,” he said, shaking his head. “a gentleman.”

oh god, the drama. you stifled a laugh. “well, excuse me, mister gentleman. i just didn’t want to assume you’d pay.”

“assume away,” he said, already heading toward the nearest fancy breakfast café like he hadn’t just kidnapped you and the cats. “i’ve got you covered.” you glanced down at mr. pickles, who gave you a look that screamed, hurry up, i want my eggs.

the café, of course, was fancy. fancier than anywhere you’d normally set foot in. as you walked in, clutching mr. pickles’ carrier like a lifeline, you whispered to geto, “you couldn’t pick a normal place?”

“normal?” he asked, arching a brow. “what, like mcdonald’s?”

“that would’ve been perfect, ” you muttered. he just chuckled. “relax. it’s on me. besides…” he leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “i have a reputation to uphold. international law guys don’t slum it, you know?” you snorted. “you’re so full of it.”

“maybe,” he admitted, grinning. “but you’re here, aren’t you?” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling as you followed him to a table, where gojo cat immediately tried to climb onto the nearest chair, only for geto to gently push him back down. “don’t even think about it,” he told the cat, who meowed indignantly. mr. pickles, meanwhile, sat primly in her carrier, surveying the café with a look of mild disdain. she was probably judging the lack of gold-plated bowls. “so,” geto said once you were seated, his tone casual but his eyes warm. “what are you having? and don’t say something cheap to be polite.”

“how’d you know i was going to say that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. he shrugged. “just a hunch. order whatever you want.”

you hesitated, glancing at the menu. everything was overpriced, and you were 80% sure a single pancake here cost more than your rent. “fine,” you said finally. “but if i order the most expensive thing on the menu, i don’t want to hear you complain.”

“deal,” he said, smiling like you’d just agreed to marry him. god, he really was trying to woo you. and judging by the way your heart was doing somersaults, it might’ve been working.

the cafe was everything you imagined a “fancy breakfast spot” would be—muted beige tones, big windows letting in soft sunlight, overpriced art hanging on the walls, and tables filled with people who somehow looked like they owned hedge funds. there were plants too, the kind that didn’t seem real, and a faint jazz tune played in the background. if geto was trying to impress you, he was definitely succeeding, albeit unintentionally making you feel a little out of place. but all of that took a backseat the moment you heard that voice.

“you’re joking,” you muttered under your breath as you caught sight of none other than ryomen sukuna, towering like a goddamn villain straight out of a noir film. the cigarette smell hit first, faint but unmistakable, lingering on his dark uniform. his face twisted into a scowl the second he spotted your table. “ugh, pets,” he grumbled, eyeing the carrier with disdain. “this is why this place is going downhill. who even lets cats in here?”

“good morning to you too, sukuna,” geto said smoothly, leaning back in his chair with a calmness that only pissed sukuna off further. you, on the other hand, were seconds away from panic. this is choso’s brother? you’d seen him before, sure—usually smoking in the hallway and glaring like everyone had personally wronged him. but now? here? as your server? gojo cat immediately picked up on your distress—or maybe he just didn’t like sukuna’s face—because he started growling in geto’s lap. it was the tiniest, most pitiful growl, but sukuna’s eyes snapped to him, narrowing in challenge. “what’s that thing’s problem?” he asked, jerking a thumb at gojo cat. “his problem is you , ” geto said, smiling. “can’t say i blame him.” sukuna shot geto a flat look before turning his attention back to you. “what are you having?” he asked, his tone sharp enough to cut steel.

you panicked, your eyes darting to the menu. “uh… ummm …i’ll have the, uh…” you started, struggling to pronounce the ridiculous name of the dish. “the croissant…something?”

“you mean the croissant aux truffes?” sukuna interrupted, rolling his eyes. “yeah, got it. anything else?” you shook your head furiously, feeling your face heat up. “and you?” sukuna turned to geto, clearly already over this interaction. “my usual,” geto said casually, resting his chin on his hand. sukuna raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a mean smirk. “your usual , huh? what’s that again?”

geto froze for half a second, his cool demeanor slipping ever so slightly. “you know what my usual is,” he said, his voice a little sharper. “do i?” sukuna asked, feigning innocence. “must’ve slipped my mind.”

“it’s soba,” geto hissed, his calmness now completely abandoned.

“oh, soba,” sukuna said, nodding slowly like he’d just solved the mystery of the century. “got it. soba. anything else, your highness?” geto glared at him but didn’t say anything, and sukuna walked off, muttering something under his breath about “stupid regulars.” the moment he was out of earshot, geto leaned back in his chair and let out a dramatic sigh. “i’m never coming back here.”

“really?” you asked, raising a brow. “because it sounded like you practically live here.”

“not after this humiliation,” he said, though the way his lips twitched betrayed the fact that he wasn’t as annoyed as he pretended to be. you couldn’t help but laugh, the earlier tension melting away. “for what it’s worth,” you said, “your ‘usual’ sounds pretty fancy too.”

“don’t,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “i’ll never live this down.”

from the corner of your eye, you saw gojo cat attempting to claw his way out of geto's lap, probably planning to finish what he started with sukuna. mr. pickles, ever the drama queen, merely yawned, completely unfazed by the chaos. it was going to be a long morning.

sukuna’s approach to serving was efficient, sure, but it was laced with the kind of attitude that made you question why this place hired him in the first place. he practically slammed geto’s soba on the table with a smile so forced it could rival a ventriloquist dummy, and your croissant—although perfect—arrived with a snide comment about “petting zoos” under his breath. you gave him a tight-lipped smile, muttering a quick “thank you,” while geto tried to hide his snicker behind his hand. sukuna walked off, grumbling something about “pretentious cat dads.”

“don’t mind him,” geto said, breaking his chopsticks with practiced ease. “he’s just like that with everyone. well, maybe worse with me.”

“so you’re special, then?” you teased, tearing off a piece of your croissant. “you could say that,” geto replied with a grin, feeding gojo cat a tiny bit of soba under the table. gojo, the shameless flirt, lapped it up happily, ignoring mr. pickles’ death glare from her carrier. things were calm, peaceful even—until the gaggle of women arrived.

they were the type you’d expect to see in glossy magazines: perfectly coiffed hair, subtle but expensive-looking makeup, and outfits that screamed “we brunch in designer clothes.” they made a beeline for gojo cat, cooing and fawning like he was some sort of feline casanova. and, like the attention-seeking traitor he was, gojo lapped it all up, practically preening under their praise. “oh my god, look at him!” one of them squealed, petting gojo as he leaned into her touch. “he’s so cute!”

“what’s his name?” another asked, giving geto a smile that could only be described as predatory. “gojo,” geto said, chuckling awkwardly. “you named him after yourself?” one of the women teased, clearly mistaking him for the egomaniac in question.

“uh, no, actually—”

“oh, sugurruuu!” another one interrupted, clearly recognizing him. “it’s been ages! how have you been?” you raised an eyebrow as the women began circling him like sharks. apparently, they were his seniors from a past internship, which made sense because they had that polished, professional air about them. “we missed you at the office!” one of them gushed. “you were so good at handling those client presentations,” another added, her tone a little too sweet for your liking.

you took a bite of your croissant, trying to ignore the sudden twist in your stomach. it wasn’t like you had any claim over geto, right? and yet, seeing him chuckle nervously and entertain them, even though it was clear he was uncomfortable, made you bristle. beside you, mr. pickles was practically vibrating with irritation, her tail flicking furiously as she watched gojo soak up the attention. she let out a low, guttural growl that you could’ve sworn mirrored your exact mood. “he’s such a ladies’ man,” one of the women purred, gesturing to gojo. “just like his owner, huh?”

“actually,” geto said, his voice cutting through the chatter. he looked at you, his expression unreadable but his tone steady. “this is my partner.”

wait, what?

the table went silent for a moment as all eyes turned to you. the women’s faces fell ever so slightly, their previously cheery expressions dimming as they processed the information. “partner?” one of them repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief. “yep,” geto said, leaning back in his chair with a small, satisfied smile. “we’re co-parenting these two,” he added, gesturing to the cats. you blinked, your mind racing. co-parenting? he wasn’t wrong, technically speaking, but the way he said it made it sound...a lot more serious than it actually was. the women muttered half-hearted congratulations before awkwardly excusing themselves, their heels clicking against the tiled floor as they walked away. once they were out of earshot, you turned to geto, your cheeks burning. “partner, huh?”

“what? it’s true,” he said, a hint of smugness in his tone. “we’re co-parenting.”

“you do know how that sounded, right?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.“sounded perfect to me,” he said, giving you a lopsided grin. you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. maybe, just maybe, you liked geto a little more than you thought. meanwhile, gojo cat continued basking in his stolen glory, and mr. pickles finally settled down in her carrier, clearly satisfied with how the situation had turned out.

chapter 4: he brought kibble, you brought your heart

the days following your chaotic breakfast outing became a mix of heartwarming absurdity and mild chaos, all thanks to geto and his ever-determined cat. 

it started with the pet supplies. one offhand comment about needing more for mr. pickles, and suddenly geto was at your door with an entire armful of toys, treats, and nesting materials. “you said you needed stuff,” he shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he handed you a bag that looked heavy enough to contain bricks. “this is…a lot,” you said, peering inside. “did you buy out the entire pet store?”

“nah, just the essentials,” he replied, brushing off your comment. “besides, i had to get stuff for gojo anyway.”

the “stuff for gojo” turned out to be a single can of tuna.

then came the vet visits. geto had decided, entirely unprompted, that your vet appointments were now his responsibility. he would show up unannounced, a coffee in hand for you and a carrier for gojo in the other.  “i don’t think the vet needs to see gojo,” you’d said the first time he came along. “you never know,” he’d replied, entirely serious. “what if he has sympathy symptoms for mr. pickles? he’s been sneezing a lot lately.”

“that’s because he shoved his face into a pile of dust bunnies,” you deadpanned. still, you couldn’t deny how much easier it was having him around, even if it meant enduring his occasional attempts to one-up the vet with random facts he’d googled beforehand. “you know, some studies say cats feel pain differently during pregnancy,” geto commented as the vet checked mr. pickles over. the vet gave him a flat look. “that’s…not entirely accurate.”

“huh, weird,” geto said, leaning back with an entirely too smug grin. “i’ll look into it more. it’s good to stay informed, right?”

meanwhile, gojo cat’s relentless courtship of mr. pickles had reached new, unhinged heights. every day brought a new “gift” for her nesting area, ranging from sweet (a soft sock) to outright concerning (a half-dead lizard that had you shrieking and yuuji wielding a plastic lightsaber like some kind of jedi exterminator). “gojo, no!” you’d yelled, trying to wrestle the lizard out of his mouth. “don’t hurt him!” geto shouted, entirely missing the point as he held gojo back. “don’t hurt him?!” yuuji echoed, brandishing the lightsaber dramatically. “what about me? what if it jumps at me?!”

amidst the chaos, mr. pickles remained the picture of serenity, carefully arranging each of gojo’s offerings in her nesting area like some kind of bizarre art installation. she even started tolerating his presence, which was a minor miracle in itself. “look at them,” geto said one day, gesturing to the two cats as they napped side by side. “they’re like us.” you raised an eyebrow. “one of them brings in literal trash and the other barely tolerates them. which one’s supposed to be me?”

“well, obviously, you’re mr. pickles,” he said with a grin.

“and you’re gojo?”

“exactly.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “geto, you’re ridiculous.”

“and yet, here you are,” he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly.

despite the chaos, you couldn’t deny that your little makeshift family—complete with a sock-stealing, lizard-catching cat and his annoyingly thoughtful owner—had started to grow on you. mr. pickles seemed calmer, you felt more relaxed, and even geto’s awkward attempts at affection were kind of endearing. maybe, just maybe, these two weren’t so bad after all.

but honestly, you should’ve known geto would take a casual dinner and make it look like an event. the moment you opened the door and saw him standing there, you realized just how badly you underestimated the man’s ability to weaponize his looks. he’d ditched the usual button-ups for a fitted black turtleneck that clung to him like a second skin, paired with tailored gray slacks that looked more expensive than your monthly rent. his hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail, but a few stray strands framed his face just enough to be annoyingly perfect. and then there was the smell—some cologne that was equal parts warm and spicy, making your knees wobble like a newborn deer.

“you…uh, look nice,” you managed to stutter, awkwardly gesturing him in. he chuckled, stepping inside. “thanks. figured i should dress up a little since you’re going all out with dinner.” oh, so now it’s your fault for making dinner sound like a five-star experience when it was really just some pasta and garlic bread. meanwhile, your own reflection in the hallway mirror mocked you mercilessly. you were still in your semi-formal college attire: a blazer that was slightly too big, a wrinkled blouse, and pants that had seen better days. you could have changed, but no, you thought you’d save time and effort. bad call.

dinner itself went surprisingly smoothly. mr. pickles and gojo cat managed to coexist at the food station, which was nothing short of miraculous. out of the corner of your eye, you saw gojo nudging a small portion of his food toward mr. pickles, who sniffed it delicately before accepting. “look at them,” geto said with a soft smile, catching your gaze. “sharing like that. think it’s love?” you scoffed, trying to ignore how his smile made your heart race. “or maybe gojo’s just trying to butter her up so she doesn’t swat him later.”

“harsh,” geto replied, leaning back in his chair. “you’re cynical. i like it.”

after dinner, you were about to tackle the dishes when geto, ever the overachieving law student, pulled out his macbook. the glow of the screen illuminated his face as he typed furiously, answering emails and looking like the poster boy for "i have my life together."

“work?” you asked, carrying a stack of plates to the sink. “just a few emails,” he said, not looking up. “one of the partners at my internship sent over some last-minute questions.” you blinked, watching him with mild disbelief. “it’s a friday night.”

“welcome to international law,” he said dryly, fingers flying across the keyboard. against your better judgment, you found yourself… impressed? his focus, his confidence, the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to show off his forearms—it was annoyingly attractive. “ugh, law students,” you muttered under your breath, scrubbing at a plate. “what was that?” suguru asked, looking up with a smirk. “nothing,” you said quickly, turning back to the sink. “just saying how dedicated you are.” he laughed, the sound low and warm. “you’re bad at lying, you know.”

“and you’re bad at taking a break,” you shot back, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

after a few more minutes of typing, geto finally closed his laptop and joined you in the kitchen. “here, let me help,” he offered, rolling up his sleeves further. “you cooked,” he said, taking a plate from your hands. “least i can do is clean up.” you wanted to argue, but the sight of geto, sleeves rolled up, standing beside you at the sink, made your brain short-circuit. “fine,” you mumbled, handing him a dish. “but if you drop one, i’m not forgiving you.”

“noted,” he said with a grin, elbow brushing yours as he worked. as you both washed dishes in companionable silence, you couldn’t help but glance at him every now and then, heart doing a stupid little flutter each time he caught you looking. maybe this dinner wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

geto had never been one to overthink simple things. he prided himself on his ability to stay cool and collected, whether it was during an exam, an internship interview, or wrangling gojo cat after he’d somehow escaped onto a neighbor’s balcony. but here, standing next to you, washing dishes, his heart was doing its best impression of a jazz drummer—completely out of rhythm and far too loud. he tried to focus on the task at hand, scrubbing a plate with the precision of a surgeon, but his brain was too busy short-circuiting over the sheer domesticity of the moment. you, standing next to him, a faint smile on your lips as you passed him a dish. mr. pickles and gojo cat sitting like a mismatched elderly couple in the corner, their rivalry seemingly paused for the evening. this was too much. domesticity was his weakness, and you were unknowingly his kryptonite.

"you know," he started, trying to sound casual, "i’ve been working on my forearms lately. gotta make sure gojo has a sturdy perch when i carry him." your laugh was soft but genuine, and it hit him right in the chest. "oh yeah? is that why you’ve been flexing every chance you get? because i was starting to think you were just trying to flirt." he froze, plate in hand, before turning to look at you with a mock-offended expression. "flirt? me? that’s slander. i’m just a humble man with well-defined forearms doing his civic duty.”

"right," you drawled, rolling your eyes as you handed him another dish. okay, suguru, he thought. focus. this is the perfect moment. ask the question. it’s not that big of a deal. except it was a big deal. because it wasn’t just about asking if you’d like to carpool to college every day. it was about getting more time with you, sharing little moments like this. he cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. "hey, uh…you know how i drive to college every day?" you glanced at him, a little confused. "yeah?"

"and you, uh, also go to college every day?"

"correct," you said slowly, raising an eyebrow.

he could feel his palms starting to sweat despite the soapy water. this was ridiculous. why was he nervous? it was just a question! but somehow, the thought of you saying no made his stomach twist. "so," he continued, trying to keep his tone light, "i was thinking…maybe we could drive together? you know, save on gas, reduce our carbon footprint, that kind of thing." you blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. "you want to carpool with me?"

"yeah," he said quickly, nodding. "i mean, it makes sense, right? we’re both going the same way, and i wouldn’t mind the company. plus, i’ve got this playlist i’ve been dying to share." that wasn’t entirely true. his playlist was a chaotic mix of instrumental lo-fi, 90’s rock and songs gojo cat seemed to enjoy, but he’d happily curate something just for you if it meant hearing you laugh and sing along. 

"you’re serious?" you asked, and he swore he could see a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. "dead serious," he said, putting on his best poker face. "it’s a purely logistical decision, of course. nothing to do with the fact that i think you’re great company or anything." you stared at him for a moment before breaking into a laugh, and he felt his shoulders relax just a little. "okay," you said finally. "sure, let’s carpool." he grinned, feeling an almost embarrassing amount of relief. "awesome. you won’t regret it, i promise." as you turned back to the sink, he couldn’t help but steal a glance at you, his heart still doing its offbeat jazz solo. yeah, this was going to be good. better than good, even.

the last dish was set on the drying rack, and with it came the awkward silence that always followed. you and geto exchanged a glance, both of you clearly trying to decide what came next. do you send him off with a polite "thanks for the help," or do you suggest something casual? ugh, why was this so hard?

"soooo," you started, awkwardly fidgeting with a dishtowel. "uh, do you…want ice cream?" geto blinked at you, his expression pleasantly surprised. "ice cream?"

"yeah, you know, frozen dairy, sugar, flavors," you said, waving your hands vaguely like you were describing some rare delicacy. "do international law students even like convenience store ice cream? or are you more into, like, artisanal stuff churned by monks in the alps?" his laugh was low and warm, the kind of laugh that made you feel like you’d just won something. "as tempting as alps-monks-churned ice cream sounds, i’m fine with rocky road if you’ve got it."

rocky road. he’s perfect, you thought as you rummaged in the freezer, pulling out a pint. mr. pickles, ever the queen, trotted over and sat primly by your feet, tail twitching as if she expected you to serve her a scoop. gojo cat, on the other hand, had found a stray spoon to bat around the kitchen floor like it was his life’s mission. you handed geto a bowl, and he graciously accepted before pulling out his macbook and setting it on the table. "mind if i put something on?"

"as long as it’s not UN debates or a soba recipe tutorial," you teased, leaning over to peer at his screen. to your credit, you weren’t snooping—you were just curious about what kind of stuff an international law student kept on their homepage. but the minute you saw it, you froze. nestled among his neatly arranged bookmarks for email, law journals, and a soba takeout joint, was your spotify profile. your brain went into immediate overdrive. oh dear god. oh no. oh yes. wait, what?

you fought the urge to gasp, to point, to scream into the void. instead, you settled for the most nonchalant reaction you could muster. "huh. your bookmarks are so…organized." but your awkward tone gave you away, and geto, sharp as ever, followed your gaze. when his eyes landed on the offending bookmark, he paused mid-scoop, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "oh," he said, clearly trying to play it cool. "uh, yeah. that’s—uh, for convenience. you know, for when you share playlists and stuff."

"totally," you replied, nodding far too enthusiastically. "makes sense. who doesn’t bookmark their friends’ spotify profiles?" you were lying through your teeth, and you both knew it. but instead of feeling weirded out, your heart felt like it might actually burst. he bookmarked your spotify. this ridiculously attractive, smart, and funny guy has done something so nerdy and cute, and you think you might die. the silence stretched awkwardly until you couldn’t take it anymore. "so…what’s your favorite playlist of mine?" you asked, trying to keep your tone casual but failing miserably.

geto, to his credit, recovered quickly. "probably the one you called ‘in the clerb, we all cryin’.’ it’s got a lot of questionable choices."

"questionable choices?" you gasped, feigning offense. "excuse me, those are carefully curated emotional masterpieces!"

"right, right," he said, nodding solemnly but with a teasing glint in his eyes. "masterpieces like, what was it? ‘torn’ by natalie imbruglia followed by party rock anthem?"

"that’s called range, geto."

he laughed again, and you swore it was the best sound you’d ever heard. meanwhile, gojo cat had successfully cornered the spoon under the fridge, and mr. pickles let out an indignant meow, clearly unimpressed by the lack of attention directed her way. "anyways," you said, clearing your throat and desperately trying to steer the conversation away from how much your soul had ascended, "what are we watching?" he smirked, clearly enjoying your flustered state. "how about a soba recipe tutorial? you know, for research purposes."

"get out of my house," you deadpanned, throwing a napkin at him. but deep down, you couldn’t stop smiling. maybe you did like geto. just a little. or a lot. who’s counting?

-

the youtube video played on, gordon ramsey passionately dissecting the finer points of why "tiramisu supremacy" should be the law of the land, but you weren’t paying attention anymore. instead, you were hyper-aware of the ridiculously attractive man next to you, lounging on your bed, casually eating rocky road like he wasn’t a complete menace to your sanity. gojo cat had stationed himself at your feet, swiping lazily at a loose thread on your blanket. mr. pickles, in a rare display of domestic harmony, perched regally on a pillow next to geto like she was claiming him as her territory. you could almost hear her smug little cat thoughts: this one? yes, acceptable.

meanwhile, you? you were losing it. somehow—through some strange twist of fate or cosmic joke—your head had ended up resting on geto’s chest. his chest. his sculpted, unfairly perfect chest. you told yourself it was for comfort, or convenience, or whatever excuse your brain could scramble together. oh god, is this okay? what if he thinks i’m weird? or worse, what if he doesn’t care at all?

his arm was just kind of… hovering there, like it didn’t know what to do. his bicep flexed every time he adjusted, and you swore it was on purpose. it’s not on purpose, idiot. calm down. "you good there?" his voice cut through your internal spiral, warm and teasing. you cleared your throat, suddenly self-conscious. "uh, yeah. totally fine. just... comfortable, i guess."

"comfortable, huh?" he echoed, his tone light but his heart doing cartwheels. she’s comfortable. okay. don’t freak out. play it cool. meanwhile, geto was absolutely not playing it cool. this is fine. this is normal. people hang out like this all the time. friends. buddies. totally platonic. on a bed. watching gordon ramsey. with her head on my chest. oh god, i’m dying. his arm was still hovering awkwardly, and it was starting to cramp. should he just—? no. too much. but maybe? before he could overthink it further, you shifted slightly, glancing up at him.

"you can, you know," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. he blinked down at you, dumbfounded. "can what?"

"put your arm around me," you mumbled, cheeks heating up like a furnace. geto’s brain short-circuited. oh god, she said i can. she actually said i can. is this real? am i dreaming? where’s gojo? he needs to see this. wait, no, absolutely not. this is private. oh god, my arm.

"uh, yeah. sure," he finally said, his voice cracking just a little as he tried to sound casual. his arm settled around your shoulders, warm and solid, and you let out a content sigh. meanwhile, internally, he was screaming. this is the best day of his life.

"you’re stiff as hell," you teased, glancing up at him. "sorry, it’s just—i’m not used to—" he fumbled, trailing off. "chill out," you said with a soft laugh, your hand lightly resting on his chest. "it’s just me."

just you. the girl he’d been pining after for weeks. the girl whose spotify profile he’d bookmarked. the girl whose cats he’d willingly co-parented like an idiot in love. he wasn’t even sure how he was still breathing. "yeah," he said softly, his lips quirking into a small smile. "just you."

"hey, are you even watching?" you asked, gesturing at the screen where ramsey was now passionately defending the honor of cannoli. "uh, yeah. totally," he lied, having absolutely no idea what was happening in the video. "oh yeah? then what’s his stance on panna cotta?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow. geto paused for a second, then grinned sheepishly. "panna whatta?" you groaned, laughing despite yourself. "you’re hopeless."

"hopelessly charmed," he muttered under his breath, but thankfully, the loud volume drowned it out. gojo cat let out an exaggerated yawn, curling up at the foot of the bed, while mr. pickles blinked at both of you with what could only be described as approval. and for a brief moment, with you curled up against him, geto thought that maybe, just maybe, domesticity wasn’t so bad after all.

the clock on your bedside table glowed 9:30 pm, the red numbers a cruel reminder that sunday was slipping away. geto shifted slightly, the arm around your shoulders reluctantly moving as if to signal his departure. right. college tomorrow. responsibilities. but neither of you moved. instead, his attempt to lift his arm ended in a poorly executed maneuver that pulled you closer—much closer. suddenly, your face was inches from his, and you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. his breath hitched. oh god. oh no. oh yes. what if he does something stupid? like kiss you? no, bad idea. abort. retreat. pull away. you’ll think he’s weird—

you kissed him first. his brain went blank.

your lips pressed softly against his, a tentative, curious movement that sent every coherent thought in his mind scattering like autumn leaves in the wind. your lip balm—something fruity, maybe peach?—lingered on his lips, blending with the faint taste of rocky road ice cream. his heart stopped, then kickstarted with a force that left him lightheaded. "oh," he murmured against your lips, his voice barely audible. "oh?" you pulled back slightly, a teasing smile quirking your lips. "i — i mean —" he stammered, his cheeks flushing a deep pink. "uh, wow."

"wow?" you laughed softly, your hands sliding up his chest, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt. "shut up," he groaned, but his grin betrayed him as his hands instinctively found your waist, steadying you as you moved to straddle his lap. oh god. oh god. she’s on my lap. this is not a drill. repeat, this is not a drill. "you’re awfully red, suguru," you teased, your tone light, but the way your fingers brushed against his jaw made his pulse race. "yeah, well, you’re—" he cut himself off, his eyes flickering to your lips before meeting your gaze. "you’re unfairly pretty, okay? and i’m trying not to pass out here."

"pretty?" you echoed, feigning innocence as you leaned in closer, your noses brushing. "is that all?" he chuckled, low and breathy. "pretty, gorgeous, unfairly cute. take your pick." before he could spiral into another wave of self-doubt, you kissed him again, and this time, he responded in full. his lips moved against yours, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second. his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his fingers flexing like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. in the background, gordon ramsey’s voice bellowed something about undercooked risotto, but neither of you noticed. this is what dreams are made of, right? he thought. her lips, her taste, the way she’s holding onto me like i’m her favorite person in the world. rocky road and lip balm and… gordon ramsey? okay, ignore that. focus. focus on her.

"you good there, suguru?" you murmured against his lips, your voice laced with amusement. "good?" he echoed, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. "i’m amazing. incredible. best night of my life, no contest."

"you’re such a dork," you laughed, your forehead resting against his. "yeah, well," he said, his smile softening as his thumb brushed along your cheek. "you like this dork."

"i do," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. his heart soared. he tightened his hold on you, his lips ghosting over yours once more as he whispered, "good. because i don’t think i’m letting you go anytime soon." the clock ticked on, but neither of you cared anymore. responsibilities could wait.

-

just as geto’s lips brushed against yours for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, a loud, synchronized cacophony of meows erupted from the corner of the bed. you both froze.

there sat gojo cat and mr. pickles, staring at the two of you with matching expressions of feline judgment. mr. pickles, her fur slightly puffed and her eyes narrowed, let out an indignant mrrrow that sounded suspiciously like "get a room." gojo cat, ever the instigator, joined in with an exaggerated meeeooowwww, his tail flicking dramatically as if to say, "seriously? right in front of us?"

“oh my god,” you mumbled, burying your face in geto’s neck as he chuckled, the sound rumbling against you. “i think we’ve offended the fur babies,” he said, clearly trying not to laugh too loudly as gojo cat began pacing in circles, yowling like a siren. “offended? they sound like they’re trying to declare war,” you muttered, pulling back reluctantly. “maybe they’re just jealous,” geto teased, his dark eyes twinkling as he reached up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “jealous of what?” you scoffed, glancing at the cats. mr. pickles was still bristling like a wronged queen, while gojo cat was now attempting to paw at the edge of the bed for dramatic emphasis.

“of this.” geto smirked, leaning in like he was about to steal another kiss, but mr. pickles let out a sharp hiss, cutting him off. “okay, okay, time out!” you said, waving your hands in surrender. with a sigh, geto released you, though his hand lingered on your waist for a moment longer. “guess that’s our cue.” you followed him to the door, the cats trailing behind like disapproving chaperones. gojo cat let out one last, drawn-out meow as if to say "good riddance," while mr. pickles sat primly by the door, glaring up at geto with all the disdain she could muster. “she’s really protective of you, huh?” geto said, slipping his shoes on. “always has been,” you replied, your hand resting on the doorknob. “probably doesn’t help that you keep bribing her with treats.”

“bribing?” he repeated, feigning offense. “that’s called building trust.”

“sure it is, mr. international law,” you teased, leaning against the doorframe.

he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “speaking of trust, uh… i’ll pick you up tomorrow? for class?” you raised an eyebrow, smirking. “trying to make this a habit now?”

“well,” he said, his cheeks pinking slightly, “i figured i’d bring you another one of those fancy croissants. and, you know, maybe see you smile first thing in the morning again.” your chest tightened at his words, warmth spreading through you. “smooth, geto.”

“is that a yes?” he asked, his voice softer now, his gaze locked on yours. “yeah,” you said, your lips curving into a smile. before he could step out, he leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a quick but lingering kiss that made your heart race. when he pulled back, his smile was uncharacteristically shy.

“goodnight,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“goodnight,” you replied, watching as he walked away, his hands stuffed into his pockets but his stride noticeably lighter.

as you closed the door, you turned to find mr. pickles sitting side by side, staring up at you with unreadable expressions. “don’t look at me like that,” you said, pointing at her. “you’re the ones who ruined the moment.” mr. pickles let out a chirpy meep , as if to say "i’m just doing my job," before padding back to her nesting area with an air of smug satisfaction. you shook your head, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face. whatever this thing with suguru was, you didn’t want it to end. not now, not ever.

chapter 5: justin bieber and other forms of groveling

you swung the door open, expecting to find a text from geto telling you to come downstairs like a normal person. instead, you were met with him. suguru geto, standing at your doorstep, looking like he’d just stepped out of a gq photoshoot. “morning!” he greeted cheerfully, his voice as smooth as his suit. yes, a suit. a dark, perfectly tailored one that hugged his broad shoulders and slim waist just right, paired with a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the top, exposing just a hint of his collarbone. the whole look was topped off with a skinny black tie and shiny leather oxfords that somehow made you question if you were even allowed to walk next to him. and don’t even get started on his hair—pulled back into a low bun, with a few loose strands framing his stupidly perfect face. “why—why are you here?” you stammered, gripping the doorframe for support because, honestly, this man might be a health hazard. “thought i’d save you the trip downstairs,” he said casually, though his lips curled into a smirk like he knew exactly what he was doing. “besides, i wanted to see you earlier.” great. now your heart was doing this weird fluttery thing, and you hated it. “you know you could’ve just texted me, right? like a normal person?”

“where’s the fun in that?” he quipped, his voice tinged with amusement.

ugh. 

the first thing that hit you when you slid into his car—a sleek black bmw z4 convertible with the top down—was the overwhelming scent of car cleaner mixed with him. “did you—did you just get this cleaned?” you asked, wrinkling your nose at the smell. “maybe,” he replied, a little too quickly. you glanced at the dashboard, which was spotless and gleaming. the leather seats looked freshly polished, and there wasn’t a single crumb or speck of dust in sight. well, except for the faint trace of orange fur on the passenger seat. “you missed a spot,” you teased, pointing at the fur. “gojo,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “aw, don’t be mad at him,” you said, grinning. “he’s just marking his territory.”

“yeah, well, he’s not paying for this car, is he?” suguru shot back, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. the car smelled like money, honestly. the leather had that rich, almost intimidating scent, and the steering wheel looked like it had been handcrafted by someone with a phd in luxury interiors. but somehow, there was this comforting undertone of suguru’s cologne—spicy, woodsy, and ridiculously distracting. you tried to act normal, like you weren’t suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were to him in this car that felt way too intimate for a ride to campus. “so, what’s the occasion?” you asked, nodding toward his suit as he pulled out onto the main road. “internship meeting after class,” he explained, keeping his eyes on the road. “wanted to make a good impression.”

“yeah, well, mission accomplished,” you mumbled, more to yourself than him, but he still heard. “what was that?” he asked, glancing at you with a playful smirk. “nothing,” you said quickly, your cheeks heating. as he drove, you found yourself sneaking glances at his hands on the wheel. his sleeves were rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, which looked unfairly muscular for a guy who claimed to “barely have time for the gym.” the veins running up his arms were just… there, taunting you.

“you’ve been working out, huh?” you blurted, unable to stop yourself. he chuckled, a low, warm sound that made your stomach flip. “noticed, huh?”

“kind of hard not to when your biceps are trying to break out of that shirt,” you retorted, trying to sound nonchalant. “oh, this?” he said, flexing his forearm slightly as he adjusted the gearshift, clearly showing off. “ugh, stop,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “you’re so annoying.”

“and yet here you are,” he teased, shooting you a quick grin before turning his attention back to the road. as you sat there, half-annoyed and half-smitten, you couldn’t help but think that this man was going to be the death of you.

-

the two of you sat in the car outside your campus building for a moment longer than necessary. the engine was off, but the atmosphere buzzed with something heavy, something neither of you dared to name yet. geto had one hand draped lazily over the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift, but you weren’t fooled. his jaw was tense, and his thumb tapped nervously against the leather, a small tell that you’d come to recognize. he didn’t want this ride to end. neither did you, if you were being honest. “so,” you started, your voice almost shy. “thanks for the ride.” he glanced over at you, his dark eyes soft but smoldering all at once. “yeah,” he said, his voice low, “anytime.” and just when you thought he’d let you leave, he moved.

his hand—large, warm, and calloused just enough to send a thrill through you—slipped behind your neck, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent goosebumps racing down your arms. the touch was firm but gentle, commanding but tender.

“come here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t even have time to process before he pulled you in, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that left you breathless. this wasn’t just a goodbye kiss; no, this was something deeper, something that spoke of longing and frustration and a thousand unsaid things. his lips were soft but insistent, moving against yours like he was trying to memorize the feel of you, like he didn’t care that the windows weren’t tinted enough for the scene unfolding inside. his tongue swept against your lower lip, asking, no, demanding entrance, and you couldn’t deny him. the taste of him—coffee from earlier, a hint of mint, and something uniquely suguru—was enough to make your head spin. your hand instinctively came up to his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt as if to steady yourself. but instead of pulling away, he deepened the kiss, tilting his head to get a better angle, and you thought you might actually lose all sense of reality.

when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. no, he lingered, his lips brushing against yours one last time, as if reluctant to let go. his breathing was heavy, his cheeks slightly flushed, and when you looked up at him, you saw the faint sheen of your lip gloss smeared on his mouth. his lips—pink, swollen, and thoroughly kissed—were enough to make your brain short-circuit.

“you’ve got—” you gestured vaguely to his mouth, your voice shaky. he raised an eyebrow, smirking in that infuriatingly confident way. “lip gloss?” he guessed, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip like he was testing the feel of it. “yeah,” you mumbled, feeling your own cheeks heat up. “good,” he said simply, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “i’ll keep it.” you wanted to scream, cry, and maybe kiss him again all at once. instead, you just sat there, dazed, as he leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“guess i should let you go now,” he said, though his tone made it clear he wasn’t entirely thrilled about the idea. “yeah,” you managed to say, though your legs felt like jelly just thinking about walking into that building. as you stepped out of the car, the smell of car cleaner and his cologne still lingering around you, you could feel the weight of people’s stares. it wasn’t like fancy cars were a rare sight, but you stepping out of that car, looking thoroughly flustered and kissed? yeah, that was something. you glanced back at him one last time before closing the door. he gave you a small wave, the smirk still firmly in place. “i’ll pick you up later,” he called out, and you swore you heard the faintest hint of smugness in his voice. “yeah, okay,” you replied, trying to sound normal even though your entire body felt like it was on fire. as you walked toward the building, your mind raced with one singular thought: suguru geto was going to be the end of you. and honestly? you were okay with that.

-

as geto shifted gears and eased into a parking spot, he let out a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. "oh, suguru, what a smooth operator you are," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his already-perfect hair. but as his fingers grazed his lips, he froze. oh no.

your lip gloss—that faint pink menace—was still there. he squinted into the rearview mirror, tilting his face left and right like he was analyzing evidence at a crime scene. yup, definitely there. and definitely noticeable.

“cool. love that for me,” he said under his breath, grabbing a tissue from the glove compartment. he dabbed at his lips gently, trying to erase the sheen. but no matter how much he rubbed, it refused to disappear completely. a faint tint lingered, stubborn and utterly humiliating. not that he minded, of course. secretly, he was fighting the urge to giggle like a high schooler who just got his crush’s number. she kissed me, he thought, his inner monologue doing cartwheels. and now her lip gloss is on me. does this count as shared property? do i need to buy her a ring now? he glanced at the building where you’d disappeared moments ago. a soft smile tugged at his lips, but then he caught his own reflection again, and the smile turned into a scowl.

“focus, suguru. you’re an international law student, not a lovesick teen,” he muttered, trying to psych himself up. but then, completely unbidden, the lyrics hit him: shawty’s like a melody in my head that i can’t keep out—

“oh my god, no,” he groaned, dropping his forehead against the steering wheel. “pull it together.” he sat up straight, fixing his tie like he was about to walk into court, not class. still, his thoughts wandered back to the kiss. he could still feel the warmth of your lips on his, the way you tasted faintly of coffee and lip gloss. “yeah, okay, maybe i’m a little lovesick,” he admitted to no one, sighing dramatically. a loud honk snapped him out of his reverie, and he jerked upright, eyes darting around. some guy in a beat-up sedan gave him a look as if to say, get moving, pretty boy.

“right, right, focus,” geto muttered, putting the car into park. but the distraction had already done its damage. in his daydream, he’d nearly considered driving through the building instead of parking near it. and not for the first time. last semester, there’d been that unfortunate incident where he’d been too engrossed in memorizing legal jargon to realize he was barreling toward the curb. it wasn’t his finest moment, but hey, everyone made mistakes. this time, though, it wasn’t legal jargon messing with his head. it was you.

after ensuring his car was perfectly parked (and double-checking for rogue curbs), he checked his reflection one last time. hair? immaculate. tie? sharp. lips? …still faintly pink. he sighed, leaning back in his seat. "well, if anyone asks, it’s my new look," he muttered, smirking to himself. but deep down, he wasn’t bothered. in fact, the idea of walking into his building, pink lip gloss and all, knowing it was from you? yeah, he could live with that.

-

you glance at your phone for what feels like the millionth time, the lock screen mocking you with its time: 6:45 p.m. every minute that ticks by feels like an eternity. where the hell was geto? the man who swore on rocky road ice cream and cats that he’d pick you up after class. “ugh, liar,” you grumble under your breath, clutching your phone tighter. you dial his number again, half-hoping, half-dreading, that he’d pick up. the line rings once, twice, and then straight to voicemail. “figures.”

the campus courtyard is thinning out now, with most students heading home or to their dorms. you, however, are still standing at the edge of the parking lot, looking like the poster child for loser-core chic. a group of girls you vaguely recognize from your department walk by, their giggles low and conspiratorial as they glance in your direction. one of them nudges her friend and whispers loudly, “see? i told you. you can’t trust law guys. they’re always playing games.” you stiffen, feeling your cheeks heat. okay, rude. but also…they might have a point?

“poor girl,” another one says, her voice dripping with pity. “she probably thought she was special.” your jaw tightens as you resist the urge to shout back, no, actually, he’s probably just late! maybe traffic, or… or… you groan inwardly. even you don’t buy your excuses anymore. just as you’re debating whether to crawl under a bush and live there forever, your deskmate, nanami kento, approaches. ever the epitome of politeness, he clears his throat softly before speaking. “hey,” he begins, adjusting the strap of his leather satchel. “are you, uh, waiting for someone?”

you force a smile, trying to appear less like a rejected rom-com protagonist. “yeah, uh… my ride’s just running a little late.” nanami’s brow furrows slightly, and he glances at his watch. “it’s been over thirty minutes.”

ouch. okay, way to rub salt in the wound, kento.

he sighs, looking almost…sympathetic? “i could drop you off if you’d like. it’s on my way.”

normally, any sane, self-respecting woman would jump at the chance to be chauffeured home by nanami kento—a man so punctual and reliable, he’s basically a walking swiss watch. but alas, you are neither self-respecting nor particularly sane at this moment. “thanks, nanami, but i’m good,” you say, waving him off with a grin that’s probably more pained than reassuring. he nods slowly, clearly unconvinced but too polite to argue. “alright. take care, then.” as he walks away, you let out a long sigh, your earlier bravado crumbling. “ugh, geto, you’re so dead,” you mutter under your breath, kicking a stray pebble across the pavement. by now, the campus is nearly deserted, and the idea of taking the bus home looms over you like a dark cloud. with a resigned sigh, you check the bus schedule on your phone. the next one isn’t due for another 15 minutes. just perfect.

the bus ride home is as glamorous as you’d expect—fluorescent lights that make everyone look vaguely ill, the faint smell of stale chips and rubber, and the occasional bump that sends you jerking forward. you plop into an empty seat, your bag clutched tightly on your lap. a group of teenagers in the back snicker about something, and the guy across from you is humming off-key to whatever’s blasting through his headphones. yeah, this is way better than being driven home in a bmw z4, you think bitterly, rolling your eyes.

the faint scent of orange fur clings to your bag, and you wonder if it’s from gojo cat sneaking into geto’s car this morning. the thought makes you irrationally mad all over again. i bet the car is fine. he probably just forgot or something stupid like that. you lean your head against the window, watching the city lights blur past. the rhythmic hum of the bus is oddly calming, but your thoughts are anything but. what if he’s hurt? a small, worried voice pipes up in the back of your mind. but you squash it quickly. no, he’s just being an idiot.

-

geto is convinced this is how he dies—not by some massive legal scandal or a tragic car accident, but by sheer embarrassment. the moment the clock hit 6:00 p.m., he knew he was doomed. when the hands of time ticked past 6:45, panic set in. it’s fine, he had told himself, gripping his steering wheel with white-knuckled determination. she probably hasn’t even noticed yet. but she had noticed. oh god, had she noticed. every missed call and unread text was like a dagger to his heart. he could practically feel your disappointment vibrating through his phone. the sheer audacity of his internship, requiring him to sit through endless discussions about treaties and bylaws while you were out there—waiting for him like some rom-com protagonist.

and what does he find when he finally arrives at campus? absolutely nothing. a deserted lot, the soft hum of crickets, and not a single trace of you. he rubs a hand over his face, groaning as he slams his car door shut. great, suguru. really great. not only do you make law students look unreliable, but you’ve also officially cemented yourself as a clown in front of the only person who matters.

so, he does the only thing a desperate man can do: breaks every traffic law ever invented, zipping through yellow lights and cutting corners like it’s his goddamn personal mission to get to the apartment before you disappear entirely. “please don’t hate me,” he mutters under his breath as his bmw roars down the street. “i’ll get on my knees if i have to. maybe not in public, but like…if it comes to that.”

meanwhile, you’re trudging through the dimly lit hallway of your apartment complex, the bus ride home having sucked every last ounce of life out of you. your feet ache, your bag feels heavier than ever, and your faith in men has plummeted to new depths. he didn’t even call back. the audacity, you think bitterly, fumbling for your keys. wasn’t i just defending international law men this morning? god, i’m so stupid.

you’re too busy cursing geto to notice the looming figure leaning casually against the wall by the elevator—sukuna. he smells like croissants and cigarettes, an objectively weird combination that somehow works when it’s him. his uniform—a black button-down rolled up to the elbows and an apron slung lazily over one shoulder—is dusted with flour. “yo,” he greets, his voice low and gravelly as always. you freeze mid-step, praying you don’t look like a drowned rat after that miserable commute. “uh, hey.”

“late night?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow as he takes in your obvious exhaustion. “something like that,” you mumble, trying not to sound as annoyed as you feel. sukuna’s sharp eyes flick to your bag. “bus, huh? thought you were too fancy for public transport these days. what happened to prince charming?” oh great. just what i needed, you think, rolling your eyes internally. “prince charming is currently on my list,” you snap, more to yourself than him. “yikes.�� sukuna lets out a low chuckle, his smirk infuriatingly smug. “guess mr. perfect isn’t as perfect as you thought.”

“okay, first of all,” you shoot back, “i’m not having this conversation with you. second, why do you even care?” he shrugs, clearly unbothered. “i don’t. just funny to see you slumming it with the rest of us peasants.” before you can muster a witty retort, the sound of rapid footsteps echoes down the hallway. you both turn just in time to see geto rushing in, his tie slightly askew and his expression one of pure panic.

“there you are,” he blurts, skidding to a stop in front of you. his eyes dart between you and sukuna, his brows furrowing slightly. “oh, now you show up,” you say, crossing your arms. “did you have fun ghosting me for two hours?”

“wait, i can explain—”

“can’t wait to hear this,” sukuna mutters under his breath, earning a glare from you.

geto runs a hand through his hair, his words spilling out in a rush. “i got stuck at my internship, and they don’t let us use our phones— stupid rule, i know—but i swear i tried to get to you as fast as i could. i even broke, like, five traffic laws. maybe six.” you narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “and that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“no! i mean, yes! i mean…” he groans, clearly flustered. “look, i’m sorry. really. i’ll do anything to make it up to you. please don’t be mad.” sukuna snickers, leaning back against the wall. “wow. anything, huh? bold move, law boy.”

“can you not?” you snap at sukuna before turning back to geto. “fine. you can start by explaining why my calls didn’t matter enough for you to pick up.”

“they did matter!” geto insists, his voice rising slightly. “i swear, if i could’ve answered, i would’ve.” sukuna snorts, muttering, “sounds like excuses to me.”

“dude, seriously?” geto snaps, finally losing his patience. “guys, enough!” you cut in, throwing your hands up. “i’m too tired for this. suguru, if you’re really sorry, you can start by leaving me alone for the rest of the night.”

geto’s face falls, but he nods reluctantly. “okay. yeah. i’ll go.” as he turns to leave, sukuna shoots you a smug grin. “guess prince charming isn’t so charming after all.” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

-

you’re sprawled out on your couch in the most dramatic fashion imaginable, mr. pickles perched on your chest like some kind of feline overlord. her tail swishes back and forth, slapping your face occasionally as if she’s judging you for your life choices. can’t even secure a law student, her gaze seems to say. and honestly? fair. lanas haunting voice croons “the other woman” from your speaker, because of course your brain thought this was the perfect soundtrack to your misery. who is the other woman, his degree? you wonder, staring blankly at the ceiling while mr. pickles kneads your collarbone with zero regard for your comfort. maybe it’s the un charter. maybe she’s prettier than me. you groan, picking up your phone to scroll aimlessly, only to see it light up with a string of notifications. it’s geto.

geto: hey. geto: i’m so sorry, seriously. geto: please don’t hate me. geto: gojo cat is crying.

and there it is, a picture of gojo cat edited with comically large tears streaming down his face. you snort despite yourself.

geto: i can explain. geto: the internship is evil. geto: satan himself probably drafted those treaties. geto: and i had to read them all. geto: sorry :((((

you roll your eyes but feel your lips twitch. the messages keep coming.

geto: look, i even made a playlist called “my apologies” to make it up to you. geto: song 1: sorry by justin bieber. geto: song 2: call me maybe by carly rae jespen. geto: song 3: i’m a fool by cee lo green.

you’re this close to laughing when another message pops up.

geto: please forgive me, i’ll do anything. geto: i’ll even let mr. pickles sit in the bmw.

now you’re grinning. typing back, you send:

you: door’s unlocked.

the next sound you hear is heavy footsteps thundering down the hallway above. you blink. “he’s running,” you mutter, barely containing your laughter. within seconds, there’s a knock at your door, and when you yell for him to come in, the door swings open to reveal a completely disheveled geto. his hair’s a mess, his suit jacket is halfway off his shoulder, and he’s panting like he just ran a marathon. “you’re serious about leaving your door unlocked?” he breathes out, a hand on the doorframe for balance. “why are you out of breath?” you ask, trying not to laugh. “you live one floor up.”

“sprinted,” he replies, straightening up. “priorities.”

mr. pickles hops off your chest with a disgruntled meow, sauntering over to sniff him. she gives a little approving chirp before settling down by his feet. “even mr. pickles forgave me,” he says, grinning like an idiot. “so, am i forgiven?” you lean back into the couch, trying to look unimpressed. “you sent me a justin bieber song.”

“a classic apology move,” he counters, stepping closer. “and gojo cat cried. that’s how sorry i am.” you roll your eyes but hold out your hand. “fine. you’re forgiven.” he takes your hand, pulling you up from the couch into his arms without hesitation. “good. because i’m never missing another ride again. next time, i’m picking you up in advance, like a whole hour early.” you snort. “you’d probably park outside my window and text me to hurry up.”

“absolutely,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’ll even bring coffee. and croissants.” mr. pickles lets out a loud, approving chirp. ah, love.

-

it did feel a little ridiculous, the way you were sprawled on top of geto on your couch, both of you tangled together in a heap of limbs. but neither of you seemed to care. he had one arm slung around your waist, keeping you steady, while his free hand lazily traced circles on your thigh. you were lying chest to chest, close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your cheek. "you know," he said, voice slightly muffled as he buried his face in your hair, "if i ever screw up like that again, i’m giving mr. pickles full authority to end me. claws out, no mercy." you lifted your head to meet his gaze, one eyebrow raised. "oh, she’d do it too. and with that belly of hers, she’s got some extra power now."

as if on cue, mr. pickles let out a loud, approving purr from her spot at the other end of the room, delicately grooming her very pregnant self. her tail flicked in what you could only assume was satisfaction at being included in this hypothetical revenge plot. geto chuckled, his hands tightening slightly on your waist. "there you have it. mr. pickles as judge, jury, and executioner. i’m officially terrified." you smiled, tracing the line of his jaw with your finger. "as you should be. she takes no prisoners."

“and neither do i,” he murmured, his tone dipping as he tilted his head up to kiss you. the shift in mood was sudden but not unwelcome. his lips pressed against yours with the kind of determination that made you forget how to breathe for a second. his hands slid to your hips, holding you in place as he leaned back against the cushions, taking you with him. "you’re really trying to prove a point, huh?" you teased, breath hitching as his grip tightened. "i don’t think words are enough," he said between kisses, his voice low and smooth. "actions speak louder, right?" and speak they did. his hands wandered lower, firmly grabbing the soft curve of your ass, earning a surprised squeak from you. "suguru," you warned half-heartedly, though your hips involuntarily shifted against him. he grinned up at you, the picture of smug satisfaction. "what? i don’t hear you complaining."

“yet,” you shot back, but your body betrayed you, rolling your hips again as heat pooled in your stomach. "thought so," he said, voice dipping into a near growl. his hands guided your movements, holding you steady as he kissed you again, deeper this time. it wasn’t just apologetic; it was hungry, desperate, and laced with a promise to make up for every missed second. mr. pickles, ever the unbothered queen, yawned loudly from her perch. apparently, the impending chaos was none of her business. 

things were absolutely peachy—literally and figuratively—because there you were, straddling geto on your worn-out couch like it was the most natural thing in the world. his tie had been discarded somewhere (you’ll probably find it wedged under the couch cushions next month), and his usually crisp shirt was wrinkled beyond salvation.  his hands, warm and firm, roamed over your thighs and hips, eventually settling on your ass, which he seemed determined to commit to memory with the way he kept squeezing. it was flattering, really. all those squats and lugging around mr. pickles’ oversized carrier had not gone unnoticed.

“you’re really into this, huh?” you teased between kisses, nipping at his bottom lip just to feel the soft hitch in his breath. he grinned against your lips, shameless and unrepentant. “what can i say? i’m a man of taste.” his hands squeezed again, making you jolt slightly. “and damn, this is a masterpiece.”

“oh my god, suguru,” you groaned, half-laughing, half-mortified. “you sound like a bad rom-com character.” he tilted his head back, letting out a deep, rumbling laugh that made your stomach flip. “hey, i call it like i see it. can’t help it if i’m honest.”

“yeah, well, your honesty’s about to get you kicked off this couch,” you shot back, though your hands betrayed you, sliding up his chest to cup his face. “oh, c’mon,” he said, leaning up to kiss you again, softer this time, like he was trying to remind you exactly why you hadn’t kicked him out yet. “you’d miss me too much.” and then, because suguru geto couldn’t let a moment of peace exist, he smirked and said, “besides, you’re the grandma of the house. gotta respect my elders.” you froze, pulling back just enough to stare at him with a look that could melt steel. “excuse me?”

“grandma,” he repeated, entirely too pleased with himself. “you know, since you’re mr. pickles’ mom and all. technically makes you—”

“i swear to god, suguru,” you interrupted, cutting him off with a sharp pinch to his side that made him yelp. “do you have a death wish?”

“what? it’s a term of endearment!” he tried, though his laughter betrayed him. “you’re lucky i like nerds,” you muttered, but your lips betrayed you, curving into a reluctant smile as you leaned down to kiss him again. “lucky indeed,” he murmured, hands finding their favorite spot once more. mr. pickles, meanwhile, let out a loud, judgmental meow from her perch, as if to remind both of you who really ran this house.

and geto? geto was panicking. like, full-blown, internal monologue of doom panicking. sure, he looked calm on the outside—well, except for the faint pink creeping up his neck and the way his hands were starting to tremble just a bit against your hips. but inside? oh, it was a mess.

he loves ass. he loves your ass. in fact, he loves you. and while those three facts should be enough to keep him focused and confident, they were doing the exact opposite. because—plot twist—he hasn’t exactly been in the game for a while. “okay, breathe, suguru,” he muttered to himself under his breath, trying to keep his cool as your hands idly played with the collar of his shirt. but your superwoman instincts picked up on everything , and your raised brow as you looked down at him only made things worse. “you good?” you asked, voice soft and teasing, but laced with genuine concern. “yeah, totally,” he replied too quickly, clearing his throat like that would erase the way his voice cracked. “i’m just—uh. just, you know... thinking.” you tilted your head, watching him with that infuriatingly cute little smile that made his stomach flip. “about what? you’re usually a lot smoother than this, geto.”

“oh god, i’m blowing it,” he groaned, letting his head thump lightly against the back of the couch as he finally let the words tumble out. “it’s just... it’s been a while, okay? i’m out of practice or whatever, and now i’m worried i’m gonna, like, disappoint you or something. and that grandma joke? yeah, that was supposed to kill the mood so i could avoid all of this.” you blinked at him, caught between laughter and disbelief. “are you serious right now?”

“painfully.” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, his other hand still planted on your hip. “you’re amazing, and i just... i don’t want to mess this up.” for a moment, you just stared at him, and he could feel himself shrinking under your gaze. but then, the smile that spread across your face was nothing short of wicked. “oh, suguru,” you murmured, leaning down so your lips brushed against his ear. “you have no idea what’s coming, do you?” his breath hitched as your hand slid down to the buttons of his shirt, popping one open with a practiced ease that made his heart skip a beat. “w-what do you mean?”

“i mean,” you said, voice dropping to a low, sultry tone that sent shivers down his spine, “i’m about to make sure you never, ever doubt yourself again. you’re gonna be too busy thanking me to think about whether or not you’re ‘out of practice.’”

he swallowed hard, trying to think of a coherent response, but all that came out was a strangled, “uh — okay.”

“good,” you said simply, shifting your weight and sliding down his lap. and as he looked down at you, wide-eyed and completely at your mercy, one thing became crystal clear to suguru geto: he was absolutely, 100%, in over his head.

-

diva down? diva down. the diva in question being you.  you, the self-proclaimed diva of the century, were currently on your knees, ready to turn suguru geto’s jittery, bashful energy into something far more relaxed—well, if relaxed meant completely wrecked. and honestly? you were thriving. “oh god,” geto let out a breathless laugh, raking a hand through his loose hair as he looked down at you, his cheeks pink and his eyes hazy with anticipation. “you don’t have to—”

“stop,” you cut him off with a teasing smirk, fingers already working on his belt with the precision of someone on a mission. “don’t ruin my moment, suguru.” he laughed again, that soft, breathless kind that made your stomach do flips. “right, wouldn’t dream of it.” as you slid his belt free and popped open the button of his slacks, you couldn’t help but notice how his chest rose and fell just a bit faster, the faintest hint of nerves lingering in his gaze. “you good up there?” you asked, giving him a little grin. “y-yeah,” he stammered, licking his lips. “just... uhh, taking it all in.”

“oh, you’re gonna be taking a lot more than that in a second,” you teased, tugging at his slacks. he groaned, tipping his head back against the couch as he laughed again, but he still lifted his hips eagerly to help you slide the fabric down. and holy shit.  those slacks had been doing a lot of heavy lifting, and now, with them out of the way, you were faced with undeniable proof that suguru geto was not just hot, but also packing. “damn,” you muttered, your eyes widening just a bit as you took him in. “what?” he asked, his voice tinged with nervousness, but also curiosity. “nothing,” you said quickly, though your smirk betrayed you. “just... wow.”

“wow?” he echoed, his brows lifting.

“wow,” you confirmed, leaning in closer. “you’re full of surprises, huh?”

he chuckled softly, his hand coming down to rest gently on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that was almost too sweet for the situation. “i could say the same about you,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “oh, suguru,” you said with a teasing lilt, your hands bracing against his thighs as you leaned in, letting your breath ghost over him. “you have no idea.” and as you finally got to work, suguru let out a sound that was half laugh, half moan, his head tipping back as his hand slid into your hair. yeah, it was definitely going to be a long night—for both of you. and honestly?

bless men raised by their mothers. or at least men who respect women beyond a surface level, because suguru geto? he was proving himself to be a certified sweetheart even with his brain turned to mush. "god, you're...you're so good at this," he babbled, voice pitched just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "like—ohhh, fuck—you’re perfect. seriously, i don’t know how—fuck—you’re even real."

you couldn’t help but smirk around him, though the sheer earnestness in his tone was making your head spin. suguru wasn’t just moaning—no, he was giving you a running commentary like his life depended on it. and honestly? the mix of his praise, his ridiculous vocabulary, and the raw honesty of his reactions were doing more for you than you cared to admit. "shiiit, babe," he groaned, his hand tightening in your hair as his hips shifted just slightly, like he was trying to hold himself back. "you’re incredible. so... so fucking—god, you’re beautiful." you hummed against him, letting the vibrations travel through him, and the broken moan he let out in response was almost enough to make you moan.“i—fuck,” he stammered, his free hand clenching and unclenching on the couch cushion as though he was trying to ground himself. “i can’t even—fuck, you’re amazing. you know that, right? like, amazing.” 

it was ridiculous, really. this level of detailed, horny babbling shouldn’t be hot, and yet, suguru’s desperate, unfiltered honesty was doing a number on you. you’d kiss him if your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. “you’re gonna—oh fuck, you’re gonna ruin me,” he rasped, his words punctuated by a low, shaky laugh. “like, actually. no coming back from this. you’re—shit—so perfect, babe. i don’t even know how you’re real.” you glanced up at him briefly, catching the flush on his cheeks and the dazed, almost reverent look in his eyes. he looked wrecked already, and you weren’t even close to finished. yeah, men raised right were a blessing. and suguru geto? he was living proof.

suguru was going to cry. or die. or both. maybe at the same time. because when a simple, god-loving, god-fearing man like him thought of you—his girl, his love—his mind didn’t stop at the surface. no, it wandered far, far into the future. he dared to dream big: marriage, a nice house with you, gojo cat and mr. pickles running the place with their eventual brood of kittens, and maybe, if he let himself get really carried away, a kid or two of your own. but this? this was not in the script. not the way he imagined this happening, not this soon. was he complaining, though? no, not one bit. still, suguru couldn’t shake the way his brain was short-circuiting. what if you thought this was weird? not the moment itself—because, holy shit, this moment was unreal—but the way he couldn’t control the ridiculous rambling bubbling out of him.

“god, you’re... you’re gonna be the death of me,” he stammered, his voice breaking slightly as his hand tightened on the couch cushion beneath him. “seriously. i’m done for. you’ve—fuck—you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. literally, figuratively... h-hell, every way there is.” he let out a shaky laugh, his other hand brushing the edge of your jaw, his touch featherlight like he was afraid he’d break you—or worse, wake up and find out this was all a dream. “you have no idea, do you?” he murmured, his tone softening even as his breaths came uneven. “how much i—fuck, how much i love you.”

that admission was supposed to stay locked in his chest, hidden away alongside the future house and the diary full of thoughts he would probably never admit aloud. but there it was, laid bare in the open. his throat tightened as he watched for your reaction, his heart pounding in his chest like it was trying to break free. his mind raced with every possibility—what if you thought he was moving too fast? what if this ruined everything?

you were going to die. or cry. or both. maybe not in that order, but the emotional whiplash was real. because while you were—let's face it—giving the performance of your life, suguru geto had the audacity to play the wildest card in his hand: he told you he loved you. the words hit you like a sucker punch, making your brain screech to a halt. you paused, pulling him out of your mouth with a slick, obscene pop, a strand of spit still connecting the two of you as you gaped at him like he’d just told you the earth was flat. “wait, what?” your voice was hoarse, a little breathless, and full of disbelief. your hands remained steady on his thighs, but you weren’t about to let that slide. “say that again.”

suguru blinked at you, his flushed face half-covered by the messy curtain of his hair. and yet, somehow, he still looked every bit the breathtaking dork you fell for. “i... i said i love you,” he mumbled, his voice soft, but you could see the telltale signs of his nerves in the way his hands fidgeted at his sides. oh, you knew you won now. your lips curved into a sly, wicked grin, your heart pounding in your chest for reasons that had nothing to do with what you were doing moments ago. “good,” you said simply, your voice low and teasing, before brushing your thumb over his hip bone in a way that made him shiver. “because i love you too, suguru.” the way his eyes widened, his chest hitching in disbelief, was almost enough to undo you completely. but you weren’t done. oh no, not by a long shot.

you leaned in again, doubling down on your efforts with a newfound determination, your mouth warm and eager as you took him back in. this time, you didn’t hold back, letting him feel just how much you meant those words. the soft noises tumbling out of him turned into broken, desperate moans as you let him slide deeper, letting him bump against the back of your throat with a confidence that made his hips jerk. “holy—fucck, baby, ” he gasped, his voice trembling as his hands instinctively tangled in your hair. “you’re—oh my god—i can’t—”

and just like that, he was gone. the way his body tensed, his hand gripping the back of the couch like a lifeline, was all the warning you got before he tipped over the edge, his release hitting you with an intensity that left him trembling beneath you. you pulled back slightly, swallowing and smirking as he looked down at you with dazed, love-struck eyes, his chest heaving. “you okay there, lover boy?” you teased, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you crawled up to straddle him. he groaned, dragging his hands over his flushed face, but even through his embarrassment, you could see the adoration shining in his gaze. “you’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, but the small, lovesick smile on his lips said he wouldn’t have it any other way.

somewhere in the tangled chaos of his mind, suguru was thinking about reciprocity in customary international law—something about how states are expected to treat each other in kind. why this popped into his head as he helped you up from your knees, he had no idea. maybe his brain was short-circuiting from everything that had just transpired. or maybe it was just his nerdy coping mechanism for the sheer intensity of what was about to go down. either way, he shelved the thought because all he knew—clearly, distinctly, and beyond a shadow of a doubt—was that you needed help. erm, his girl needed help. and suguru geto? he was nothing if not a gentleman. “alright, up you go,” he said, his voice warm and teasing as he hooked an arm around you, effortlessly lifting you.

before you could even fully process what was happening, he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, carrying you to the bed. “oh my god, suguru!” you squealed, smacking his back, but there was no real heat behind it. " shh, this is for your benefit,” he said, laughing softly as he adjusted his grip. and with a surprising amount of precision for a man who had just been thoroughly flustered minutes earlier, he tossed you onto the bed. somehow, miraculously, you landed gracefully—no awkward angles or unflattering positions. before you could catch your breath, suguru was already yanking down your pajama shorts, his movements sure and deliberate. his hair, still a little messy from your earlier efforts, framed his face as he looked down at you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of affection and hunger. you smirked, propping yourself up on your elbows. “you know, if you’re really feeling sorry, there’s one thing you could do.” his brows raised, intrigued. “oh? what’s that?”

“sit down,” you said casually, leaning back against the pillows. “because i’m sitting on your face.” suguru froze for half a second, and you could swear you saw his soul leave his body. but then he let out a low, almost reverent laugh, his hands already sliding up your thighs as he knelt onto the bed. “you’re killing me,” he muttered, his lips curving into a grin that was equal parts adoring and wicked. “but if you insist…” and as he settled himself beneath you, looking up at you with pure devotion, he thought to himself—if he had a ring right now, he’d propose without a second thought.

sit on his face? seriously? where the hell did that confidence come from? because let’s be real—have you ever sat on someone’s face before? no? yeah, that’s what i thought. so it really serves you right for hovering over suguru’s face in the most awkward, hesitant way possible after you practically tore your underwear off like a woman on a mission. and suguru, bless his sweet, sweet soul, was waiting so patiently. expectantly, even. until he let out this deep chuckle—low and warm and way too sexy for your own good—and before you could spiral any further into overthinking, he reached up and yanked you down onto his face. oh. OH. there was no time to process, no moment to think, because suddenly the same mouth that usually went on and on about laws, treaties, and whatever international nonsense was now french kissing your cunt like it was his one true calling in life.

you moaned—loud and borderline pornographic—but could you really help it? suguru groaned against you, the vibrations shooting straight through you as his grip tightened on your thighs, holding you firmly in place like he had absolutely no plans of letting you escape. you tried. god, you tried to play it cool. tried to pull a geto on him with a little bit of horny babbling of your own, figuring he’d appreciate the effort. but every time you so much as opened your mouth to string a coherent sentence together, suguru would double down on his actions—his tongue flicking or curling in ways that had you seeing stars—and whatever you’d been planning to say vanished into the void, replaced by high-pitched whines and breathy moans.

“suguru—oh my god—”

he hummed in response, the sound smug and almost teasing as he looked up at you from between your legs, his dark eyes practically glowing with amusement and pride. “you talk too much,” he mumbled against you, the words muffled but clear enough to make your face heat up. and honestly? you’d be offended if he weren’t so goddamn good at what he was doing.

geto was putting in the work. the work. and you? you were trying not to cry or completely lose your mind, but if you did, you had a sneaking suspicion he’d love it more than anything. the man had a thing for drama—especially if it was drama he caused. but in the middle of all this face-sitting, tongue-lapping, thigh-gripping madness, you noticed something else.

geto was hard. painfully so. the sight of him below you was already sinful enough, but the way his erection strained against his boxers, twitching every time you moaned his name, was almost too much. his response time to recover was unreal—maddening, even—but considering it was you on top of him, you liked to think you deserved the credit. and since a wise saying says to love your neighbor as yourself, you decided to help a man out. literally. your hand snaked down between you two, wrapping around his length with a touch that had him freezing for a split second. “what are you—oh, fuck, ” geto choked out, the sound muffled against your thighs as you yanked down his boxers and started stroking him.

he let out a garbled groan and—you couldn’t make this up—spat. he outright spat onto your cunt, the hot slickness dripping between your folds, and you? you loved it. the move earned him a sharp gasp, followed by a breathless laugh as you sped up your hand, squeezing him just enough to draw out those pretty whines you loved so much. “oh my god, suguru,” you teased, voice shaky but teasing nonetheless. “did you just—?”

“shut up,” he grunted, his words nearly swallowed by a low moan as you swiped your thumb over his tip. “you’re the one—fuck—driving me insane right now.” and judging by the desperate way he buried his face against you, tongue moving feverishly as his hips bucked into your hand, you’d say he was enjoying this just as much as you were. but the real kicker? when you came, your body instinctively pressed down against his face, your thighs squeezing tight enough to almost cut off his air supply. geto didn’t complain. not once. if anything, the muffled groan against your cunt and the way he jerked against your hand as he came told you he’d gladly die like this if it came to it. but luckily for both of you, you lived to tell the tale.

once the both of you had managed to throw on some semblance of clothing, clean up, and collapse into the bed, that’s when reality hit geto like a brick wall. what. the. hell. just happened. as he laid there, his arm slung lazily around you, your soft breathing against his chest, his brain decided now was the perfect time to spiral. he glanced over at mr. pickles, who sat perched on the counter in the kitchenette, her tail flicking in judgment. the cat looked like she was debating calling the authorities on him for defiling her beloved owner. oh god. what does this make the two of you?

no, scratch that. the real panic set in when he remembered: he told you he loved you. not in some subtle, cute, roundabout way either. no, it was the full-blown, l-o-v-e type of confession. the kind he wrote about in his secret diary he kept under his bed. the kind that implied white picket fences, shared dreams, and a life together. and judging by the way you were pressed against him, one leg draped over his, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his bare chest (because yes, the formal shirt had been entirely ditched), you were either about to let him down easy or...

oh god.

“you okay?” your soft voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts, your hand pausing its movements as you tilted your head to look up at him. he cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing. “uh, yeah. yeah, totally fine.” you squinted at him, your lips twitching like you were trying not to laugh. “you sure? you’re looking a little... out of it.” well, there was no way out of this now. in all his dorkus glory, he blurted out the dreaded question:

“so, uh... what are we?”

the words hung in the air for a second, and geto wanted to melt into the mattress. but instead of laughing or teasing him, you smiled, your expression soft and fond. “what do you want us to be?”

“i mean...” he swallowed hard, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “i said i loved you, so... maybe something serious?” you grinned, pressing a kiss to his chest. “good. because i’m not letting you go after that performance, lover boy.” and just like that, geto decided he could die happy. even if mr. pickles never forgave him.

chapter 6: the class you’ll never forget

geto woke up feeling like the main character in some rom-com where everything had finally fallen into place. the sun was shining directly on his face, his skin was clear, the tension that had been tying his muscles in knots for weeks was gone, and most importantly, there was you snuggled up next to him. your soft snores were music to his ears, and mr. pickles' contented purring from her nesting area completed the picture. everything was perfect. except for the yeowling.

it started faint, like the distant sound of a car alarm, and grew steadily louder. groaning, geto rubbed his face. “what the hell...?” he suddenly bolted upright, realization hitting him like a freight train. “oh no. oh no, no, no.” you groggily stirred beside him, blinking up at him in confusion. “what’s wrong?”

“gojo,” he groaned, flopping back against the pillows dramatically. “i left him alone in my apartment last night. he probably thinks i’m dead.” you blinked, then snorted. “that’s dramatic, even for a cat.”

but geto wasn’t joking. he’d seen gojo cat throw tantrums over him leaving for ten minutes to grab milk. this? this was abandonment on a grand scale in the eyes of the overly dramatic feline. as if on cue, the voice of your landlord, yaga, boomed from the other side of the door. “keep that cat quiet, or i’m calling animal control!” you gasped indignantly, sitting up. “excuse me! mr. pickles would never—”

“it’s not mr. pickles!” geto groaned, already throwing on his pants. “it’s my overly theatrical—”

just as he was about to open the door to go upstairs, a loud thud echoed from the direction of your fire escape. the two of you froze.

“what was that?” you whispered.

geto peeked out the window, his jaw dropping. “oh my god. no.”

there, perched precariously on the fire escape outside your window, was gojo cat. his tail swished furiously, and he was glaring through the glass like he had just tracked his runaway owner down on sheer willpower alone.

“he... jumped from my window to yours.”

“that’s, like, one story up!” you exclaimed.

“i know!”

gojo cat let out another ear-piercing yeowwww! that sounded suspiciously like he was cursing geto out in feline language. “okay, okay , i’m coming!” geto sighed, sliding the window open to let the cat in. gojo cat pranced inside with all the dignity of someone who had just won an olympic gold medal, ignoring you entirely as he hopped onto geto’s torso and began aggressively kneading his shoulder. “i’m sorry, okay?” geto muttered. “i didn’t mean to abandon you.” gojo cat meowed smugly, his forgiveness conditional.

“so... how mad would you be if i told you yaga still thinks this is mr. pickles’ fault?” you asked, biting your lip to hold back a laugh. geto groaned, flopping back onto the bed, gojo cat still perched on his chest. “this is my life now. cat dad, tenant offender, and boyfriend to the world’s most beautiful woman.” you grinned, kissing his cheek. “and don’t you forget it.”

gojo cat, ever the drama queen, was about to make a grand display of his wrath, his tail swishing like an emperor preparing to deliver a royal decree. but then, he saw her.

mr. pickles. lounging in her nesting area, belly round with her impending litter, she cast him the most witheringly judgmental side-eye known to catkind. it wasn’t even subtle. her disdain radiated like heat off asphalt, and for a moment, gojo cat’s indignant rage faltered. but then, like the suave rogue he believed himself to be, he straightened up, puffed out his chest, and strutted toward her with a confidence that could only be described as delusional. it was all tail flicks and exaggerated steps, as though the very floor beneath him had the privilege of bearing his paws.

and then—smack. the grand feline tumbled, face planting into the ground with all the grace of a wet noodle.

you tried to stifle your laugh, but the sound still slipped out. geto choked back a snort, muttering, “that’s my boy.” mr. pickles, however, did not laugh. no, the dignified queen merely let out a single approving chirp, a sound that might have translated to "pathetic, but amusing." gojo cat, undeterred by his embarrassing mishap, rose with renewed determination. and with the kind of courage that made you question if he had a screw loose, he approached mr. pickles once more, his intentions clear.

“no way,” you whispered.

“he wouldn’t,” geto added, equally mesmerized.

but he did. gojo cat, in what he undoubtedly believed was the ultimate gesture of love, began grooming mr. pickles. grooming her. and she let him.

for a moment, you thought she was going to swipe at him with all the fury of a hormonal mom-to-be. but no. she actually closed her eyes, her purring like a soft motor. it was... surreal.

“did we just witness the biggest romance of the century?” you asked, genuinely baffled. “bigger than us?” geto teased, pulling you closer. “way bigger,” you deadpanned.

as you both watched the unlikely duo share their moment, you couldn’t help but laugh. gojo cat was clearly putting his all into his attempt at love, and mr. pickles? well, she looked like she was actually enjoying it.

“ah, love,” geto sighed dramatically, resting his chin on your head. “even dumber than us,” you added, shaking your head in disbelief.

-

you were on cloud nine, feeling a level of peace and contentment that only came from having a hot law nerd boyfriend and a cat with enough sass to rival gojo cat himself. geto's bmw hummed quietly beneath you as the two of you cruised toward campus. it wasn’t just the morning coffee kicking in; it was the knowledge that if this man dared to be late—even by two minutes—mr. pickles would end him. like, not even metaphorically. she’d leap on him, claws out, and make him regret. because mr. pickles loved his hair. she loved kneading it, curling her paws into his long, luscious locks as if claiming her personal throne. and honestly? you got it. if you were a cat, you’d do the same. hell, even as a human, you’d do it (and did, regularly).

as he pulled into the parking lot, the goodbye routine began. “don’t forget to text me when your class ends,” he said, already pulling you into a warm hug. “don’t forget to pick me up, or we’re breaking up,” you countered sweetly, earning a laugh from him. “you’re scary, you know that?” he teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “and you’re my very gorgeous, very whipped boyfriend,” you shot back, leaning up for a kiss. he wouldn’t dream of ghosting you—not when you were this beautiful, amazing, kind, and, obviously, a little unhinged. as he opened your door and helped you out like the true gentleman he was, he insisted on walking you all the way to the front entrance. his hand rested at the small of your back, a gesture that had you swooning even as you teased him.

“you do know you’re going to be late, right?”

“worth it,” he replied with a grin, bending down to kiss your cheek. but just as you were about to part ways, a booming voice shattered the moment.

“GETO! LAW STUDENTS BUILDING! NOW!”

you both turned to see a very exasperated professor waving frantically at him from across the quad. you couldn’t help but laugh as geto sighed, muttering under his breath about how “love is a battlefield.” he gave you one last kiss, muttered a promise to pick you up later (or else), and jogged off. you watched him go, smiling like an idiot as you whispered, “ah, love.”

the day started fine. better than fine, actually—you left geto’s bmw with a kiss and the knowledge that your cat, mr. pickles, was safe and sound in her nesting area, glaring at gojo cat with the fury only a pregnant feline could muster. but halfway through your lecture on post-modern feminist theories (a riveting topic, truly), your phone buzzed. it wasn’t a normal notification. no, it was the cctv feed suguru had installed as a “gift” to keep an eye on your “queen” (read: your absolute dictator cat). and there she was—mr. pickles—kneading her nesting area with an urgency that sent a chill down your spine.

“oh. oh no. oh dear god.” you whispered, staring at the screen as she let out a war cry that could only mean one thing: grandmahood was happening. you shot up from your seat so fast your desk screeched against the floor. “is everything okay?” your professor asked, startled by your abrupt movement.

“uh, yeah! just — cat emergency! she’s — uh — giving birth!” you stammered, already halfway out the door.

“congratulations?” someone in the back called out, earning a round of laughter you had no time for.

you sprinted through campus like a woman possessed, your backpack bouncing behind you as you cursed yourself for not realizing mr. pickles’ morning mood wasn’t jealousy but labor. and then—because fate had to test you—geto appeared, casually strolling toward the law building with his usual unbothered grace. “babe?” he called out, watching you bolt past him like you were auditioning for the olympics. “no time to explain!” you yelled over your shoulder. he frowned, putting two and two together because, let’s face it, the man’s a genius. “is it mr. pickles?!”

“YES!”

and then he started running behind you.

“suguru!” you wheezed, already out of breath. “GET YOUR CAR!”

“why?” he shouted, effortlessly keeping pace with you.

“because we’re running across a campus that’s like thousand acres and I WILL DIE!”

he paused, muttering something about how you were so dramatic, before pivoting on his heel and sprinting toward the parking lot.

you barely made it to the main road before suguru’s bmw skidded to a stop beside you.

“get in!” he barked, throwing the passenger door open.

“i swear to god, if she starts delivering while we’re stuck in traffic —”

“she’s not gonna start without you,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“cats don’t work like that, suguru!”

“well, neither do women, but here we are,” he shot back, pulling into the driveway of your building.

you bolted out of the car, taking the stairs two at a time while suguru trailed behind with all the urgency of a man who knows he’ll be the one cleaning up whatever mess awaited. when you burst into the apartment, mr. pickles was mid-contraction, glaring at you like, finally, my useless human has arrived. gojo cat, meanwhile, looked terrified, hovering at a safe distance as if he was considering calling 911. “okay, okay, we’re here!” you panted, dropping to your knees beside mr. pickles. suguru followed, looking at the scene with wide eyes. “do...do we call a vet?”

“no! she’s got this. we just have to support her!”

“support her how?”

“i don’t know! emotional support?”

“she’s a cat!”

mr. pickles let out a low growl, silencing suguru’s protests. “okay, okay, i’ll shut up,” he muttered, backing away slightly. the door creaked open, and there stood shoko, still in her scrubs and sporting the exhausted yet curious expression of someone returning from a night shift only to walk straight into chaos. “what’s going on here?” she asked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. you barely spared her a glance as you clutched suguru’s arm. “mr. pickles is in labor. it’s a whole thing. prayers are appreciated.”

“prayers?” she scoffed, stepping closer. “i’m a doctor. i got this.”

relief washed over you. “thank god, shoko! we could use an actual professional!”

but the moment she peeked over the edge of mr. pickles’ nesting area and caught sight of a tiny kitten halfway out, her calm demeanor shattered.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT?!”

“what do you think it is?” suguru deadpanned, visibly unimpressed. “i don’t know! i didn’t sign up for this!” shoko shrieked, stumbling backward and holding her hands up as if warding off an unholy demon.

you blinked at her, utterly dumbfounded. “aren’t you a doctor?”

“a human doctor! this is nature gone rogue! ”

mr. pickles, clearly unamused by shoko’s dramatics, let out a low, guttural growl that sent the so-called professional scurrying back to the doorway. “you’re on your own,” shoko muttered, lighting a cigarette like the events unfolding in your living room weren’t directly her problem. meanwhile, gojo cat, always the overachiever, decided he needed to help. unfortunately, his idea of help involved attempting to paw at the nearest kitten. “don’t even think about it!” suguru warned, his voice laced with exasperation.

but it was too late—mr. pickles, mid-contraction, turned her fiery gaze on gojo cat, who froze like a deer in headlights. one wrong flick of his tail, and mr. pickles let out a feral hiss that could have sent shoko back to med school. gojo cat, realizing he had crossed the line, slinked back to the corner, tail tucked between his legs, his usual swagger replaced with what could only be described as embarrassed defeat. “well, that’s one way to keep him in line,” you muttered.

“this is insane,” shoko said, still watching from the doorway. “how do you people live like this?”

“we manage,” suguru replied, his tone completely void of humor as he massaged his temples.

the next hour was a whirlwind of cat screams, your whispered words of encouragement, and suguru pacing like an expectant father in a sitcom. “should we name one after me?” he asked at one point, earning a glare from both you and mr. pickles as she finally let out one final push, and another tiny kitten entered the world. you let out a relieved sigh, and suguru finally cracked a smile. he was crouched beside you, holding your hand as if you were the one giving birth. “you did amazing,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“she did amazing,” you corrected, motioning to mr. pickles.

“team effort,” he replied with a grin.

and as mr. pickles began cleaning her newest babies, shoko muttered from the door, “you’re all insane. call me when it’s over.”

“you’re the godmother, shoko!” you called after her, earning a muffled string of curses as she disappeared down the hall.

“we’re gonna need so much cat food,” he muttered, pulling you close.

ah, the miracle of life.

-

a few weeks had passed since d-day—delivery day, or as suguru had renamed it, “domestic chaos day.” the kittens were growing faster than you thought possible, transforming your once peaceful apartment into a battlefield. mr. pickles ruled the roost with an iron paw, while gojo cat’s ego took a daily beating as the kittens bested him at every turn. every time one managed to leap higher, run faster, or swipe his tail just right, his tail would puff up in indignation like a furry balloon. you’d managed to rehome a few of the kittens, starting with shoko.

her kitten—affectionately dubbed “roach” for her uncanny ability to survive despite zero effort—was the perfect match. low-maintenance, unfazed, and perpetually napping. shoko had initially protested, but now you’d catch her sending you pictures of roach curled up in her sink or casually perched on her liquor cabinet.

then there was yuuji. poor, sweet, persistent yuuji. he’d campaigned harder for a kitten than some politicians do for office. the boy went through hoops — begging you, suguru, choso, sukuna, and even mr. pickles. you weren’t sure how he’d pulled it off, but eventually, he was deemed worthy of a black-and-white troublemaker he promptly named “gumi.” the kitten adored yuuji and spent most of his time riding on his shoulders like a parrot, though you suspected yuuji let him get away with far too much.

sukuna, on the other hand, had reluctantly taken the runt of the litter after it refused to leave him alone. “don’t need some damn cat,” he’d grumbled the entire way home. now? the tiny kitten followed him everywhere, even sneaking into his apron pockets after he came back from work. he pretended to hate it, but the soft grumbles about “stupid runt” were always followed by careful, protective pats on the kitten’s tiny head.

but the biggest surprise of all came when suguru decided to make your relationship public—on linkedin. linkedin, of all places.

it had started as a joke. you’d teased him about not “properly asking you out” after all this time, and before you knew it, he’d crafted a three-paragraph-long post about you. “in a comitted relationship with the love of my life, and no, this isn’t a humble brag — it’s a masterpiece,” he’d typed with the fervor of a man defending his dissertation. the post included references to romantic literature, quotes from classic movies, and, somehow, a detailed analysis of how mr. pickles and gojo cat played pivotal roles in your story.

you’d wanted to die of second-hand embarrassment, but the post blew up. colleagues, professors, and even strangers commented, congratulating the two of you. “you’re insane,” you’d told him, hiding your face in his chest as he laughed. “insane about you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

life wasn’t perfect — it was loud, chaotic, and occasionally overwhelming. but with mr. pickles, gojo cat, and your ridiculous yet lovable boyfriend, it was better than you ever imagined.

feline parenthood? best decision ever.

[treacherousfish]

VBS draws their partner hc!

Akito

he rarely ever drawn human. This is a one time only where he was bored in math class and randomly drew toya like you draw a random eyeball 👁️ and would be caught dead rather than to show this to anyone

his canon handwriting is neat and has a very brushstroke like look? So i took a liberty on making him write on all capslock, but it should be more bolder than what ive done lol

Toya

I feel like his drawing would be influenced by tsukasa, and from the puyo game. He doesnt think it was good because “it doesnt manage to capture akito’s charm”

his handwriting is very very neat and fancy so i feel like his alphabet would have a little cursive flair or something

An

Big shapes!! Cute!! Kohane is cute!! Round!! Love!! She gets excited at the thought of drawing kohane and it shows in her fast strokes of shapes!

messy tumblr pinterest aesthetic writing…but actually real….if u look at her canon handwritimg youll get what i mean..

Kohane

shoujo manga girl kohane stuck in irl shounen….she canonly sees An much cooler in her head but this is her result…. (An laminated this doodle kohane did on a sticky note and puts it on her bedroom wall)

kohanes canon handwriting are so small and cute!! I think her alphabet being like this feels like a given ya know?

[httpsserene]

I LOVED daniel ricciardo x max verstappen x reader!! could you write a part 2?

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐞: 𝐊.𝐎. !

summary: Okay, Daniel may have won the first round. He cleared her dry spell with no problem and used Max to do it, too. That’s completely fine, she will never complain about experiencing some of the best orgasms of her life. But, Max (the man unable to not have the last word) coerces her into giving Daniel a taste of his own medicine.  As soon as they can manage to walk on two feet, without a wobble. Mark their fucking words.  pairing: daniel ricciardo x max verstappen x fem!black!reader content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. author recommends reading part one before this. polyamory. threesome. massages. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. safe, sane, and consensual. bondage. safeword mention. unprotected sex. ruined orgasm. handjob. oral sex (male receiving). edging. crying during sex. praise kink. nipple play. dom/sub ig? joking during sex. dom!max verstappen. switch!daniel ricciardo. sub!reader. vaginal sex. anal sex (male). sex toys (butt plug). frottage. don’t like don’t read. no beta we die like men. edited by the author, though. this is a fictional depiction of real-life people, and this is not an accurate representation of them. word count: 4.3k words

author’s notes: to all the lovely readers who begged for a part two of my f1 kinktober special | overstimulation kink w danny & max. these tags may look crazy...okay, they are but the fic is reasonably crazy i would say. this was humbling to write, you have been warned. my 2k followers special comes to its end with this final installment and there will be no part three of this fic < 3. i may repost this on ao3 in a week or so, for ease of reading as i know long fics on tumblr are kind of annoying :)

(i'm going to take a little pause from writing daniel ricciardo fics but those of you that have requested things for him i will get to them in due time xxx)

prev part 1 2k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents↻

Your body feels like it’s been wrung out: legs wobbly, thighs bruised, hips aching, back broken, and numb with heat between your legs. You refuse to wear pants as the friction is too paralyzing to take more than a few steps. Loose dresses are your best friend–for the first couple of days, you even went commando around the ranch—thank god neither one of your boyfriends clued into that. 

However, it’s not like you disliked the oversensitivity and aching muscles that came after sex. You loved the feeling even more as it was the first time you’d been properly fucked in a few months. Having that unending thirst for Max and Daniel quenched; it’s heightened how you experience life. You swear that your vision feels sharper, your melanated skin softer, anything you eat tastes better than delicious, the homemade lemonade is sweeter, and most importantly, your desperation has calmed. While you love life on the farm, where living has become succulent under your senses—Max’s attitude has done a complete 180°.

His energy is completely subdued. It’s like Daniel drained the cum and brat out of him. Max is all stuttered words when he makes eye contact with either of you, blushing fully at the lightest tease or brush of skin, voice soft when he speaks, usual bluntness replaced with shyness, and he’s even clingier than normal. If he hasn’t glued himself underneath Daniel’s arm, he’ll be plastered against your back.

You wonder if he’s embarrassed that Daniel changed their “plan” on him at the last minute, or if it’s because Daniel used him as a tool to get you off—but, asking Max would only scare him away or cause the brat to resurface…so you don’t verbalize your theories. You find Max in this state more adorable than usual, and you won’t complain if it means a surplus of Max-cuddles.

Yet, the figurative rug is pulled from beneath your feet when the three of you go Christmas shopping. Daniel had separated from the two of you to go pick up a gift for his nephew, leaving you and Max alone to browse through knickknacks that decorate the shelves. Your eyes were caught by cat ornaments that looked exactly like Jimmy and Sassy but before you could reach out to grab, them Max grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to hide in the next aisle over.

“I want to break Daniel with so many orgasms that he won’t be able to speak by the time we’re done with him,” Max states bluntly. The brat is back.

“Regulate your volume,” you whisper-yell at him, hand moving to cover his mouth as you look around to see if anybody heard your Dutch boyfriend, “We are in public and you decided now is the time to bring this up?!”

He pulls your hand off his face, looking at you with wide eyes, “But, liefje–c’mon! Daniel’s been way too smug recently. Whenever I’m around him he doesn’t miss the chance to mention how he made me cry—made you cry, too!”

“Inside voice, Max,” you bite out, continuing to look at the Christmas decorations in this aisle.

“Fine,” Max whispers, rolling his eyes, “Technically, it’s another Christmas present for him if you think about it.”

“I’m trying not to think about it if you haven’t noticed.”

“Don’t you want to even the board? Imagine it: Daniel underneath the two of us, and we’re overwhelming him with pleasure. Doesn’t that sound like a good time?”

You stop walking abruptly and Max runs into your back. You spin around and stare at him with narrowed eyes and a flared nose.

“You seriously thought the best time to discuss this is in the middle of a family-friendly store, where our boyfriend is picking up a gift for his nephew?”

“Yes.”

“If you stop talking about it for the entire time we’re shopping today, I’ll consider it. We can discuss this when the phantom feeling of his cum on my skin goes away.”

That evening, you and the Dutchman watch Daniel fix a motorbike out in the driveway from the garage. He’s shirtless, sweat dripping down his face and back, you can see every muscle engage and relax as he moves. He’s silhouetted by the Australian sunset and you hear Max choke on his breath when Daniel’s loose jeans slip down his hips, exposing the waistband of his briefs—twin sighs of disappointment leave you both when he catches and drags them back up. With shaky hands, you grab the pitcher of lemonade you prepared to pour a glass for each of you. Ignoring how you missed the glass on your first few attempts, you two bring the drinks to your lips and dry the cups embarrassingly quickly to satiate your desperation—the lemonade doesn’t help. 

Daniel finishes with the bike and wipes his hands on a towel he had tucked into his back pocket, looking your guys’ way. He smiles brightly—shamefully, you wave in response and Max tucks a nonexistent strand of hair behind his ear; the two of you are acting like school girls with a crush. 

The Australian stands and in a few relaxed strides, he comes to a stop in front of you two. 

“Can you pour me a glass, sweetheart?” his request rumbles out velvety.

Stuttering, you scramble to do as he asked and find that Max has reached for the pitcher as well when your hands bump into each other. The two of you freeze and stare at each other with wide eyes; Max’s blush blooms red across his face and yours warms the brown skin of your cheeks. Daniel’s chuckle of amusement snaps you out of it; Max pours the drink, and you hand it off to the Australian, avoiding eye contact. He brings the glass to his lips and drains it dry. You and the Dutchman stare with gaped mouths, watching the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, whimpering and pressing your thighs together at his ah in satisfaction when finished. 

He leans down to place the glass back on the tray and smirks at you and Max, “Absolutely delicious. It almost tastes as sweet as either of you is acting right now.”

Both of you stay silent, squirming in your lawn chairs. Daniel takes a second to slowly press both of your mouths closed with a nudge of his fingers before straightening up and clearing his throat.

“Thank you for the drink, sweetheart,” Daniel cocks his head to the side in question, before winking, his smug aura radiating off of him, “Or should I say, ‘sweethearts?’ As both of you seemed so eager to help me quench my thirst.”

Your mouth pops open again and Max audibly whimpers next to you. Daniel laughs and walks to enter the house, “Don’t feel afraid to join me in the shower.”

The plan is set before Daniel’s out of the shower. You’ve changed into a black mini slip dress, curls loosely cascading down your back as you’ve draped yourself on top of the bed sideways, face-down on your tummy, not caring how the back of your dress has ridden up a couple of inches. Max laid himself on his side next to you, dressed in a navy Enchanté shirt and a pair of Daniel’s briefs that hug at his thighs a little too tightly, and plays with the bottom hem of your dress, letting his fingers drift underneath to press at bruises that haven’t healed from that night. 

At the sound of the shower shutting off, the two of you glance at each other; Max checking in with you one last time before you guys follow through with the plan. At your nod, Max presses a soft kiss to your lips and goes back to fiddling with your dress. You rest your head on your folded arms and as your eyes flutter shut, the bathroom door opens.

You hear Daniel humming some country song and he gets about three steps into the room before he stops abruptly.

“Well, if I had known this would be waiting for me out here, I wouldn’t have spent a lifetime in the shower waiting for you guys to take me up on my offer.”

Max makes a noise of confusion, his hand pausing at your hemline, “What are you talking about? We just thought it would be nice to give you a massage—you know, prevent any muscle tightness from when you were hunched over the bike.”

“Is that so, pretty girl?” Daniel questions you, looking past Max. He’s dried off from his shower already, skin gleaming thanks to your cocoa butter lotion he probably stole, hair still damp but not dripping, and a towel wrapped around his waist. You’re sure he’s trying to sniff out any weakness; to see if he can bend you into revealing Max’s agenda for tonight. Little does he know that you’re not an accomplice, you’ve put a good amount of work into this plan too.

In response, you offer a small smile and hold up a bottle of massage oil that was previously tucked into your side. Daniel’s narrowed eyes flit between the two of you, and then he relaxes, shrugging loftily as he motions for the two of you to move so he can lie down. 

“Okay, sure,” Daniel laughs, falling into the bed as soon as the space is available, lying flat on his stomach, face planting into the pillows and his next words are muffled but loud enough to understand, “You don’t have to use ‘giving me a massage’ as an excuse to feel me up, but I’m not going to turn it down if you’re so willing to do so.”

You and Max are kneeling on opposite sides of Daniel’s body on the bed, resting on the heels of your feet, and you muffle a giggle at Max rolling his eyes at your boyfriend’s words. The younger man slaps his hand on Daniel’s back, grinning at the stifled yelp that sounds from near the headboard, and coos sarcastically, “Do you think you can handle that level of pain? Considering this is a deep-tissue massage?”

You drizzle a nice amount of oil on the middle of his back, letting your laughter escape as Daniel pleads, “Woah—hear me out, what about a regular massage? I would like to end this massage without crying from soreness, please.”

Slowly the two of you turn to look at each other, smiles spreading across your lips, and Max murmurs, “Oh. You’ll be crying by the end of this.”

You ignore Daniel begging for mercy underneath you and beginning massaging. For all of the Dutchman’s ribbing, the two of you are gentle. Your hands soothingly rub any tension out of his back; the two of you are only doing this to melt Daniel into the bed. He protests and grumbles through the both of you digging into his shoulders, but quiets as you make your way down his back, practically moaning when you push a knot out from behind his shoulder blade. Max manages to wrangle out a whimper when he presses his thumb into the dimple of his lower back. Neither of you gets close to the towel resting low on his hips; you want to keep him as calm and unaware as possible, but getting close to that towel would do the opposite. When Daniel’s breathing slows and his sounds of relief start to lessen, Max gently coaxes Daniel into rolling on his back with ease.

The brunette’s eyes flutter open, but you tut disapprovingly when his gaze meets yours. With a kiss on his forehead, Daniel closes his eyes at your word, not fighting you for a second. And from that point, you and Max begin conditioning the older man to get used to only having one pair of hands on him at a time. Max massages his chest, you take a break, you massage his chest, Max takes a break; and as Daniel starts to relax at the rhythm, you guys slowly increase the length of your breaks. 

Until the breaks get long enough to slip the ties that you guys fastened to the headboard out.

Daniel was so entranced at the sight of you and Max sprawled on his bed that he forgot to examine his surroundings. They’re silk ties, with pre-made straps for you to tighten as soon as his hands are inside them. The two of you take it to the next step; you each begin to massage his arms (still employing your regular breaks), raising them upwards to “get a better angle.” Daniel doesn’t even shift at the change, he just hums under his breath when either of you soothes across a good spot. And with little effort, you and Max raise both of his arms and smoothly slip his tattooed hands into the ties, tightening the straps in the blink of an eye.

The older man startles, eyes flying open as he tries to yank his wrists free of the binds, “Uhhhh, what the fuck?”

Both of you watch as Daniel tries to free himself without any luck, enjoying the show as the silk ties prove they won’t give out. Chills shudder down your spine as your older boyfriend tries to order the two of you to release him, but he must see the feral glint shine in your eyes because he switches to asking when neither of you moves.

“You know what to say if you really want us to let you go, Daniel,” Max states bluntly, pulling off his Enchanté shirt easily. 

You hum in agreement, straddling the Australian’s hips and simultaneously tugging your slip dress over your head and tossing it to the side, exposing your bare body before seating yourself on the bulge showing through the towel. Daniel chokes out a curse, his eyes dancing between yours and Max’s bodies being dangled in front of his face without being able to touch.

He tests the binds for any give half-heartedly before sniffing dismissively, jaw tightening as he challenges Max, “Do your worst, baby.”

Max scoffs out a laugh, “That is the plan.”

From there you and Max turn into savages. Both of you bypass kissing Daniel, pressing lips and biting bruises along his neck and torso instead. The man can only cry out as Max terrorizes his nipples with teeth and pinching fingers while you paint marks on his hipbones and navel. The older man isn’t convinced that the night will end without the two of you seriously attempting cannibalism but the thought is pushed away when the towel is tugged off his hips.

Max laughs mockingly and flicks Daniel’s already-hardened length, “Well, this will be even easier than we thought, liefje.”

“I was half-hard from the minute you guys put your hands on me,” Daniel snipes, “Don’t let this go to your head.”

You raise an eyebrow in question, tilting your head to the side innocently which contrasts the strong grasp of your hand around the head of Daniel’s cock, “Isn’t that a compliment, though? Anyways, it clearly went to your head.”

Daniel groans in pleasure as you start to rapidly stroke along his quickly reddening length, “That was a terrible pun–fuck–but, I’m only letting it slide because your hand is on my cock.”

He bucks up into your fist and you release him immediately, smiling as you see him choke down a whimper of disappointment. The older man isn’t left alone for long, as Max drags the tip of his index finger along the slit of Daniel’s cock before flattening his palm across the head and roughly circling it to overwhelm him with an alarming amount of pleasure-coated friction. 

The brunette can’t stifle his cries this time nor can he buck his hips, thanks to the Dutchman pinning him down with his free forearm. Max pulls both of his hands away quickly, delighting in Daniel’s sounds of displeasure, the two of you watching as he attempts to chase a hand that isn’t there anymore. His length is throbbing, pulsing angrily, redder than the blush that stains his tanned chest. You swallow wantingly. Both of you thought that you would be able to get a few more rounds out of a handjob, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Max gets his hand around the base and yours circles the tip. Simultaneously, the two of you start rubbing him off in time, keeping your fists just tight enough and your motions just quick enough to hurtle Daniel to the edge. He throws his head back into the pillows, hips freely bucking as neither one of you attempts to stop him, his hands pulling against the ties all the while,

“You can cum whenever you want, Daniel,” Max states.

The older man lets out several pants of desperation, calling both of your names as he nears his climax. And when you both see the telltale sign of Daniel’s chest rising and falling heavily, you release his cock.

“No! Wait–shit,” he tries to gasp, but it’s too late. His cock starts leaking, jerking pathetically as cum drips down his length in ribbons—his orgasm ruined. Dry sobs escape his lungs as he humps the air, looking for friction that isn’t there, continuing to beg for a hand even as he struggles to breathe as a result of the unsatisfying release.

You let him come down hard, offering support in a quick squeeze of the meat of his thigh over his tattoo. When he catches his breath, his eyes flutter open. Max sees the wetness gathered in the waterlines and moves in the blink of an eye, enveloping Daniel’s still-hard cock in his mouth. 

The Australian’s back arches off the bed, hips racing forward then backward as he cries out, unsure if the feeling of Max’s mouth is good. Both pairs of your hands fly forward to still Daniel, forcing him to feel every crevice of Max’s tongue and throat, trying to bring him to another orgasm as quickly as possible. It works, Daniel stops fighting and starts obeying, rolling upward into Max’s mouth, whimpering out depravedly as he struggles against his binds again. You see his abs start to undulate in waves, a second orgasm trying to form and you slip your hand underneath Max’s chin, lightly squeezing at Daniel’s balls—and the tears fall as his release slams into him like a semi-truck.

The younger man swallows around Daniel, humming as he does it, yet the bobbing motion of his head doesn’t stop—Max is going to try his hardness to prevent Daniel from going soft, even as the older man tries to fight and twist away from the wet grasp of his throat. The Australian��s tears paint his cheek as he sobs messily, and you’re quick to check in with him as Max’s mouth is occupied.

“Daniel, color?” you manage to make your voice sound steady, but your thighs are trembling, your cunt pulsing with wetness and need. 

The man whimpers, eyes unseeingly looking down at you and Max as he cries messily, “Green.”

You moan breathily, finally giving in to your urges and rushing forward to messily kiss Daniel. You let him cry into your mouth, nipping at his lips and tasting his tears before pulling away. Max pulls off Daniel’s cock with a reedy gasp and moves backward quickly so you can slip in between them, seating your cunt atop the half-hard length and beginning to grind along him. The brunette makes a sound as if he’s been punched in the gut, arms pausing in their fight against the ties before they resume with renewed strength. Daniel scrambles to get his feet underneath him, trying to buck off the hot, wet drag of your cunt against his cock. It’s pulsing so violently that he swears he can feel it in his throat. 

Max knocks his feet down, and tugs Daniel’s chin to look at him with a hardened grasp, with his voice rough and croaky he commands, “Can you give us one more, Daniel?”

Daniel's glossy, brown eyes stare at Max without answer, mouth parted as drool slips from the corners of his lips. The Dutchman’s brow tightens with worry and he releases his chin to pull you off. But, before he can stop you, Daniel gasps out desperately.

“M’ green—please, please, Max,” Daniel nods viciously, “Green, green—one more.”

The younger man soothes Daniel with sweet words, praising and comforting him as he leans forward to pepper his lips and neck with kisses and kitten licks, pausing to motion you to continue. 

You line up Daniel’s cock easily and murmur out a ‘thank you’, before sinking down and not stopping until your ass meets his pelvis, uncaring of how he attempts to shake you off. His body is reacting in too much, but Max and you both see and hear how his brain interprets it as too good. 

You keen in pleasure but your noises are deafened by Daniel’s cries and begs for relief. Well aware that you have to get yourself off so Max can have a turn, you find that toe-curling angle with the help of Max directing your hips, holding yourself steady with one hand behind you on the bed and the other drawing rapid circles on your clit. Max moves to let you rest your back along his chest, your frizzed curls a mess as they bounce with your movements. 

The visual stimulation of Daniel in front of you moaning and heaving for more, the frantic twitching of his length inside of you, the sound of your skin slapping against his, and Max’s voice ghosting right by your ear, the ‘good girl’ that left his lips taking a second to process; all of it pushes you into the abyss. You don’t know if it’s you or Daniel that screams, your blood rushing in your ears and your vision flashing white clouds your mind as the explosion of pleasure burns your nerve endings. 

With a choked ‘fuck,’ you slump over, slipping off his twitching cock and slinking down next to Daniel as you shiver and shake through the last dregs of pleasure. Max flutters over both of you, unsure if he should keep pushing the limit, but both you and Daniel yell confirmations of “Green!” that have Max ripping off his briefs, reaching between his legs and whimpering as he carefully tugs out the plug he’s had in for the entire time.

Daniel’s eyes roll in disbelief, his brain exhausted to the point where he can’t string together any words to communicate his confusion.

Max huffs out a hysterical giggle, one hand stroking along his cock as he tosses the plug off the side of the bed. “Fuck–you were in the shower forever, Daniel. I’ve had that in for too long.”

The younger man shakes as he lowers himself on Daniel’s cock, bottoming out with a whimper as he mouths down at Daniel, “Just one more, baby, okay? Make me come, yeah?”

The older man’s moan is curdled with overstimulation, but he finds the will to get his feet underneath him and shakily thrust upwards into Max, hoping somehow that that’s enough. Max lets his head fall back in pleasure, thankful for the moving pressure of Daniel’s cock inside of him rather than the consistent annoyance of the plug holding him open. Coupled with the stretch of his rim and his hand furiously twisting along his length, Max reaches his peak quickly.

Before taking the plunge, he chokes out words of praise at Daniel and you rush to do the same, understanding that Max is attempting to push Daniel over the edge as well. You see tears of frustration build in Daniel’s eyes as he struggles to fully give in, and you fall forward to tug at his nipples with your teeth, reinvigorating Daniel’s attempts at slipping from the silk ties. At the sight, Max shouts, body tightening and then relaxing as he strokes out ribbons of cum. Daniel’s hips stutter when the first drop of cum lands on his skin and you feel his lungs halt as the strongest orgasm—most likely dry, at that—wreaks havoc upon his body.

His body goes limp underneath the two of you, and his hands droop in their binds. You speedily untie Daniel’s arms as Max slowly slips off the man’s rapidly softening length, trying to lessen any unwanted stimulation for the unaware Australian. You catch his arms before they fall against the bed, rubbing your hands against them to coax proper blood flow in them. Spent, Max stumbles to Daniel’s side, taking one arm out of your hands and matching your movements.

“Good job, liefje,” Max breathes out, smiling up at you with an exhausted smile, his hair drenched with sweat and falling in front of his eyes. You blush and kiss him sweetly, “It was your idea!”

Max shakes his head, pausing his hands to reach down and brush Daniel’s curls off his forehead, “No; you made half of the plan. So, it was our idea.”

The Australian groans, eyes fluttering open but they’re still clouded enough that you both know he’s going to need more than enough TLC tonight, “ —idea made me think i w‘sgonna die.”

Max laughs, rubbing circles around the man’s temple, “I guess we forgot to factor in your old age as a variable, didn’t we, liefje?”

Daniel’s face flutters in displeasure at being referred to as “old,” even when he’s not quite come down, “Mean, Maxy.”

You giggle, “That’s what he calls mean out of this entire experience?”

The Dutchman presses kisses to both of your foreheads before he stumbles out of bed, “I’m going to grab some fruit and cream for Daniel’s wrists. Should I grab anything else?” He directs the question to you.

Of course, the Australian jumps in before you have the chance to respond, “Lemonade, please.”

© httpsserene2024

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔙𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔲𝔭𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱

Mike munroe x male reader

A request that I received from a really nice person here on tumblr: a small idea I liked for a fic if you like the idea as well. Nothing too big, just a fic about Reader and Chris being brothers and constantly nagging each other about their crushes on Ashley and Mike.

I expanded the request a bit, sorry if I went overboard with it. Hope you enjoyed it.

Tags: set before the event of the game. Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Chris and the reader are brothers. Some very quick shifts of pov between characters. Jealousy. Mike and Jess/ Emily are not together in this. Friends to lovers. Mike is a flirt.

Words count: 4000

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔱𝔥

𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢'𝔰 𝔞 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔪

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥 Part 2 of it

For anyone interested, I took inspiration from this clue that you can find while playing as Chris.

The music thumps in the background, a mix of bass-heavy beats and voices blending into a dull roar. You and Chris sit at a small, round table near the back, well out of the action but with a good view of everyone mingling.

"So," Chris says, taking a long, dramatic sip. "You actually spent the whole night staring at Mike. Dude, seriously, you're lucky your eyes didn't burn a hole in the back of his head."

You scoff, leaning back in your chair with a mock sigh. "Like you're any better. When are you actually gonna talk to Ashley? She's cool, she's cute, she's well, out of your league but hey, a guy can dream.”

"Hey, I do talk to her," Chris retorts, feigning offense.

"Uh-huh," you say, raising an eyebrow. "It’s a lot if you can manage to squeak out a sentence before turning red.”

Chris chuckles, crossing his arms. "Fine. Why don't you go up to Mike and tell him what you think? 'Hey, by the way, I've been thinking about how perfect your jawline is all night!’ I'm sure that'll go over great." He did a horrible interpretation of your voice to mock you even further.

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks flush just a bit. "First of all, I would never phrase it like that. And second, at least I actually know things about him beyond his favorite book."

"Oh, really? Let's see who knows more about their crush. No cheating. No wimping out. Winner gets bragging rights." Chris leans forward, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Bragging rights? How about you admit I'm objectively hotter than you when I win?" you echoed, folding your arms.

"Sure. Whatever fantasy helps you sleep at night," Chris said, grinning as he dramatically cracked his knuckles. “I'll go first since I know you're just dying to hear all the juicy Ashley knowledge."

You chuckle. "Go with your in-depth research, Sherlock."

Chris clears his throat, sitting up straighter. "Fine. For starters, her favorite color is purple."

You make a face, unimpressed. "That's it? You think knowing her favorite color makes you the expert here?"

"Let me finish, smartass. She loves thriller movies. She also has this little habit of chewing on her nails when she's nervous."

You raise an eyebrow, genuinely impressed but unwilling to give him the satisfaction. "Okay, okay, not bad. But that's kid stuff. Let me show you how it's done."

Chris rolls his eyes, clearly not expecting much. "Alright, hotshot. Give me your best Mike trivia."

You sit forward, lowering your voice like you're letting him in on a secret. You have always been good at noticing things. Maybe it was a result of growing up with Chris and when it came to Mike Munroe, your crush, the small things were more than just interesting, they were revealing.

For one, every morning, without fail, he was up before the sun. He’d go for a quick run to stay in shape. You’d always catch glimpses of him at college heading back to his room in a tank top, earbuds in, eyes focused ahead and glimpses of sweat on his forehead.

He had this tough, confident exterior. He wasn’t loud like some of the others in the group. He had a way of using humor to deflect, to keep people from getting too close. You saw it when he’d brush off any talk about specific topics.

And then there were his tastes.

He likes his coffee black. Pretends it's macho. He had a surprising amount of nostalgia in his preferences. You couldn’t forget the time you’ve talked together casually on the lodge, his face lighting up as he talked about his love for old action movies.

Chris raises an eyebrow. "Alright. Maybe you’re better equipped than me. But, let's be real, you wouldn't even know where to start."

"Better than starting with nothing," you counter. "Besides, I could charm him if I wanted to."

Chris raises an eyebrow. "What would you even say?"

You grin, leaning in like you're revealing a grand plan. "I'd just walk up and ask him about his football season. Mention that time he scored the winning touchdown. You instead are hopeless"

Chris nods, pretending to take you seriously. "Oh, sure, because that'll definitely make him swoon. Hopeless? Me?" Chris laughs, leaning back with a smirk. "At least I don't have to worry about being mistaken for a stalker."

You both burst into laughter. For all the banter, you know neither of you would really judge the other for these harmless crushes. It's what makes the night so much fun.

From across the room, you caught sight of Ashley standing awkwardly near a table stacked with half-empty snack bowls and crumpled napkins. She shifted from foot to foot, clearly trying to blend into the background.

"Hey, Romeo. This is your chance," you said, leaning closer and nudging Chris with your elbow.

Chris snapped out of his trance, his head swiveling toward Ashley. His brows furrowed slightly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in amusement before settling back into a more thoughtful expression.

Chris groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "What am I supposed to do? Walk up and make everything even more embarrassing?"

"News flash: she knows you're a loser," but she clearly likes you anyway. Stop overthinking it. Just go talk to her. Be romantic for once. She loves that whole 'awkward and sincere' thing you've got going on."

"First of all," Chris said, pointing a finger at you, "I'm not awkward. I'm, uh, charmingly self-aware. Second, what if I say something dumb? Or worse, nothing at all? I can't just walk up to her and-"

"You're a coward," you interrupted, shaking your head in mock disappointment.

"Yep," he said, popping the "p" and lifting his cup in mock toast.

You were scanning the room until your gaze landed on Mike Munroe.

He was leaning casually against the wall, drink in hand, chatting with a girl you vaguely recognized from English class. His tuxedo fit him perfectly, tailored in all the right places, the dark fabric catching the light just enough to highlight his athletic build. The black foulard tied loosely around his neck was an elegant touch, a little different from the usual bow ties and neckties most guys wore. His hair was perfectly tousled, like he hadn't even tried but still managed to look effortlessly handsome.

You felt your chest tighten. For a moment, your imagination betrayed you, painting a picture of Mike turning toward you, smiling like he did when he told one of his dumb jokes when he got elected class president. You could almost hear his laugh, warm and inviting, as if it were just for you. But reality snapped back into focus when the girl he was talking to leaned closer.

"Mike would never look twice at me like that." You mumble more to yourself without thinking, unable to keep the disappointment from your voice.

Chris, placed a hand on your shoulder. His touch was light but reassuring. "Don't do that to yourself. You're a catch. If Mike doesn't see that, he's an idiot."

You looked up at him, grateful but unconvinced. Chris stood up, brushing imaginary lint off his jacket. "I'm getting us drinks. Let's make it through the rest of this night together, yeah?"

You nodded, watching as he made his way to the bar. You glance around, your gaze landing once more on Ashley and an idea strikes you. Chris is now far away from your position. It’s your chance to do something.

You stride over to her, flashing a friendly smile, keeping your movements casual so you wouldn't startle her. Her eyes widened slightly when she noticed you, but she relaxed as you softly took her arm.

"Hey," you said, grinning playfully as you gently guided her away from the corner.

Ashley laughed, the sound light and genuine. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice tinged with amusement but no resistance as you led her toward your table.

"Come on, you can't let Chris and I have all the fun sitting in the corner judging everyone." you replied, glancing over your shoulder with a mock-serious expression.

"That's what you two have been doing all night? Very productive." She scanned the place as you reached the table and she managed to spot Chris at the bar, meticulously mixing something with an unusual level of focus. But then her gaze shifted, catching Mike watching the two of you.

Jaw set, lips pressed into a firm line, eyes tracked the way you gently tugged Ashley along. His gaze lingered on your hand before flicking back up to your face. Lips pressed together in a faint, almost imperceptible scowl, as though something about the sight of the two of you together unsettled him. There was a slight tension in his posture, the way his shoulders seemed just a bit too stiff for someone casually enjoying a party.

Chris returned with two drinks in hand. "Okay, I've done it," he announced dramatically. "The ultimate drink. If you don't like it, I'm never speaking to you ag-" He cut himself off mid-sentence when he saw Ashley sitting at the table, smiling up at him.

"I... uh..." Chris stammered, turning an impressive shade of pink.

"You made this for me?” Ashley asked sweetly, taking the drink from his hand before he could respond. “Thank you, Mr. Bartender."

Chris blinks and he lets out a nervous laugh, giving you a quick glare as he hands the drink to Ashley.

She giggles, taking a sip and you watch as Chris visibly relaxes. They share a smile and there's a warm, unspoken understanding between them, a quiet moment that you can't help but feel a bit envious of.

The music shifts, slowing into a softer, more romantic melody. Couples move onto the dance floor, swaying together in a slow embrace. Ashley’s eyes light up as she turns to Chris, her cheeks flushed with a faint rosy tint from the slight inebriation she feels. "Come on, Chris," she says, tugging at his hand. "Want to go there for a bit?"

Chris's eyes dart to you, searching your face for reassurance, his expression almost apologetic. He's asking, without words, if you'll be okay.

You manage a smile, giving him a nod.

Chris lets out a laugh, his tension melting away as he lets Ashley pull him onto the dance floor. They disappear into the crowd, leaving you alone at the table. You watch them go, feeling a bittersweet pang in your chest as you take in the sight of them together, laughing and smiling, fitting together so effortlessly. Chris fumbling his way through the first few steps before finding his rhythm.

They looked so happy.

And you were here instead, alone at the table, your thoughts inevitably drifting back to Mike.

Chris feels his heart race as he stands on the dance floor, his hands resting lightly on Ashley's waist, her arms draped over his shoulders as they sway to the gentle rhythm of the music. Her gaze meets his every so often, a smile warm and genuine, making him feel like the only person in the room.

"I didn't know you had these moves." she teases, her eyes twinkling.

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. "Oh, trust me, I don't. I'm just doing my best not to crush your toes."

Ashley laughs, her grip tightening on his shoulders as she rolls her eyes. "You're doing just fine. I don't mind if you, you know, relax a little."

"Relax? Yeah, I can... I can do that," he says, voice faltering as he tries to ease into the rhythm, matching her movements as the song continues.

His focus wavers after a while, gaze drifting over her shoulder as he catches sight of his brother sitting across the room at one of the tables with Matt nearby.

There's something off about the way you're holding yourself. You're smiling, sure, even laughing at something Matt is saying, but Chris can tell that the smile doesn't quite reach your eyes. It's the kind of forced expression he's seen on you before, usually when you're trying to act like everything's fine when it really isn't.

Matt, on the other hand, seems entirely oblivious, leaning in a bit too close, his face lit up with that typical over-eager grin. He's almost leaning into your personal space as he chats away, looking way too thrilled to have your undivided attention, his eyes never leaving yours. The proximity feels a bit too familiar, too comfortable, with his arm casually resting on the back of your chair.

Chris feels a pang of protectiveness twist in his gut. He glances around the room, half-expecting Emily to appear and pull Matt back to the dance floor, but there's no sign of her. Instead, he spots her on the far side of the room, tipsy and laughing as she spins around with some stranger she's apparently mistaken for Matt. She's caught up in the music, oblivious to the fact that her boyfriend is practically glued to your side.

Ashley notices his distraction, her gaze softening as she studies him. "Chris?" she asks, her voice gentle, bringing him back to the moment. "Is everything okay?"

He blinks, snapping his attention back to her, guilt creeping in as he realizes he's been distracted. "Yeah, yeah, sorry," he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Just... got a lot on my mind."

Ashley smiles, tilting her head as she searches his face. "You sure? You can tell me, you know."

Chris hesitates, glancing around the room one more time. His gaze lands on Mike, who's slow-dancing with the girl in glittering dress. She's leaning against him, her head resting on his chest, but Mike's attention isn't on her.

His eyes are locked in your direction, his brow furrowed and his jaw set in a subtle scowl that's hard to miss. There's a tension in his gaze as he watches you and Matt together. There's a faint scowl tugging at his mouth, a subtle clenching of his jaw that makes it look like he's holding back the urge to step in but doesn't quite know how to act on it. His brows are drawn together and his eyes flick between you and Matt with a guarded intensity.

Chris frowns, glancing back at you. It's clear now that something is brewing beneath the surface, something he doesn't fully understand but can sense all the same. He looks down at Ashley, his expression softening as he makes up his mind.

"Hey, Ash?" he asks quietly, feeling a bit awkward but determined. "Would you mind helping me out with something real quick? I, uh... I owe someone a favor.”

You were mid-laugh at something Matt had said about his latest sports practice when a shadow loomed over the table. You looked up to find Mike standing there, holding his drink loosely in one hand and the other casually tucked in his pocket.

"Hey, Matt," Mike said, his tone light but carrying a subtle edge like he's asking for a favor he already expects to be granted. "Mind if I steal him for a bit?"

Matt's smile falters, and he glances at you, a bit reluctant, as if he doesn't quite want to let go of the moment he's carved out. "Uh... well, we were just-"

"Looks like Emily's about to make out with that guy," Mike interrupted, tilting his head toward the dance floor. "You might wanna handle that before it gets messy."

Matt whipped his head around, his face paling slightly as he spotted Emily drunkenly giggling and leaning far too close to the stranger. "Shit," he muttered, scrambling to his feet. "I'll, uh, catch you later." he says to you, giving you a quick nod before he disappears into the crowd.

"Yeah, sure," Mike said smoothly, his smirk widening as Matt hurried off. You glance back at him just in time to catch a wicked grin flash across his face as he watches Matt weave his way toward Emily.

He turns back to you and without a moment's hesitation, he slides into Matt's now-empty chair, shifting it even closer to yours with an obnoxiously loud scrap of wood against the floor. He dropped into the seat with a satisfied sigh. His arm resting along the back of your chair but soon sliding fully around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

The warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne, earthy with a hint of spice, made your thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. From this close, you could see every detail of his face: the light beard perfectly trimmed along his jaw, the sharp angle of his cheekbones, the infuriatingly perfect way his smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. He was leaning into his persona, that cocky, playful charm cranked up to eleven and it was doing things to your brain you weren't sure you were ready to admit.

"Well, this is cozy," Mike said, his voice low and smooth. "Didn't think Matt was ever gonna leave. Guy's got some stamina for talking, huh?"

You blinked, struggling to form words. "Uh, yeah. He's chatty"

Mike chuckled, the sound warm and teasing "Chatty? That's the nicest way to put it. Bet he's been boring you to death, huh?"

"Not entirely," you said, though your voice was far too shaky to be convincing. "He's enthusiastic."

Mike raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. "You're too nice, you know that? If I had to sit through more than five minutes of that guy's rambling, I'd be asleep in my chair."

You laughed, though it came out a little too breathy. "Maybe I'm just better at pretending to be interested."

"Pretending, huh?" Mike's smirk widened. "So, what about me? Are you pretending to enjoy this little moment we're having?"

Your brain short-circuited. "I... I mean, no. I-uh... you're not boring. Definitely not boring."

"Good to know," Mike said, his voice dipping slightly as he leaned in just a fraction closer. "I'd hate to think I was putting you to sleep."

"You're not," you managed to say, your face burning.

Mike grinned, clearly reveling in your flustered state. "You're cute when you're nervous, you know that?"

“I’m not nervous,” you said quickly, though your gaze flickered away from his, betraying you.

“Sure you’re not,” Mike murmured, his fingers brushing just a little too close against your shoulder, the touch lingering for a beat longer than necessary. “What were you and Matt talking about? You looked a little bored." His tone was smooth but there was a faint edge to it now, like he was testing the air.

You noticed the subtle shift in his expression. His jaw tightening just slightly, his eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second as if he didn’t quite like the idea of you and Matt sharing a private moment.

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Just sport stuff and his latest victory for his team. He was just being friendly,” you added, trying to sound indifferent.

You didn’t miss the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes flickered just briefly toward the ground before locking onto yours again.

Mike’s lips quirked into a knowing smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, he looked real friendly.” The smirk that followed didn’t help, pulling at the corner of his mouth as if he was more amused than you thought he should be.

You raised an eyebrow, narrowing your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

For a moment, Mike just stared at you, his expression unreadable. “Nothing,” he said too quickly, the innocence in his voice so forced that you could almost feel the tension cracking around him. The grin stretched wider, like a challenge. “Just saying, if I didn’t know better, I’d think Matt was hitting on you.”

Your breath caught in your throat and a flush of heat spread across your cheeks. You tried to play it off, but there was no denying the way your heart stuttered in your chest. “He wasn’t,” you said quickly, your voice coming out a little more defensively than you intended.

"Either way. Figured I'd come over and I don't know... make the night more interesting for you. Prom only happens once, right? Gotta make the most of it. Besides—” His voice softens, his gaze locking onto yours with a sincerity that takes you off guard. "—I've been waiting for an excuse to spend some time with you."

You swallow, feeling the heat rise to your face as his words sink in. "You have?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, his thumb grazing your shoulder in a slow, deliberate motion. "I mean, I could've come over sooner but you were busy with your brother. Then you were with Matt and I figured, maybe it's time I got a little selfish."

The intensity in his gaze makes it hard to breathe and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, caught between disbelief and exhilaration. "I... didn't think you noticed me like that," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mike's grin softens, his hand moving from your shoulder to gently rest on your waist, pulling you even closer. "I notice a lot more than you think," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Like how you always look away when you think I'm watching, or how you get that little crease in your forehead when you're trying not to smile too much."

Mike makes a silent note to himself to later thank Chris for the insights he’d shared minutes ago.

You laugh, feeling both embarrassed and overjoyed. "Okay, now you're just showing off."

He chuckles, his arm tightening around your waist as he dips his head a bit closer, his voice a soft murmur. "Can't help it. You’ve got me so close to losing it and you don’t even realize it." His fingers press gently into your side.

“Dance with me,” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with a tenderness that surprises you. There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, a vulnerability that makes your heart race. “Let me be the happiest guy in this place tonight.”

You feel your pulse race at the invitation, your mind whirling with both excitement and uncertainty. "What about that girl you were with?" you ask, your voice quiet and hesitant, unable to stop yourself from wondering.

Mike's smirk returns, his hold on your waist tightening slightly as he leans in, his voice a soft, almost possessive murmur. "She's not you. You’re the only one I can’t get out of my head.” His voice is rough, coated in something darker.

You meet his gaze, feeling your breath hitch as you search his face, trying to process the weight of his words.

He takes his chance to lean in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that leaves your heart racing. His lips crashing into yours with a desperate urgency that leaves you reeling. His hand slides around your waist, fingers tightening as he pulls you against him. The heat of his body sears through your clothes, and his thumb traces a slow, deliberate line along your cheek, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, that familiar cocky edge in his eyes. His eyes burn with that familiar, dangerous gleam-a challenge, a promise. His breath is ragged, as if he's barely holding back.

"Still up for that dance? Because I've got this new boyfriend I'd really like to show off." he whispers, his voice low and teasing. His breath brushes your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. He looks at you with that trademark mischievous grin, the one that could melt anyone’s defenses.

A rush of warmth floods your chest at his words, a mixture of giddiness and disbelief. Your heart skips, caught between the sweetness of the moment and the thrill of his presence. The corners of your mouth twitch up as you meet his gaze, and though you can barely keep your composure, you nod.

Mike's grin widens and as he takes your hand, guiding you to the dance floor, you feel as if you're floating, lost in the warmth of his gaze and the excitement of being his.

Note: if you liked this, please leave a comment. I love reading them <3

[interstellarrisa]

I manifested money two times today

a/n: hi everyone, ik i've been gone for 2 weeks but i'm back and with a success story and two mini ones lol. not the reason as to why i was gone but whatever :P btw this post is not proofread cuz im rlly tired

Decide

I needed new clothes since school is starting soon for me but we didn't really have enough money to go "back to school" shopping and so going shopping would've been kind of difficult but instead of getting sad and just accepting that story i decided to use my knowledge of the law of assumption.

It was late at night and I was tired and as I was falling asleep I thought "Why not use this moment to manifest some money?" When we fall asleep our brain is in a very open-minded state (dunno if that's the right thing to call it). It doesn't try to fight back or question suggestions it just kind of accepts them, and so I decided to manifest money. To be exact 200$ when converted.

Imagine it and accept it

As I laid there on my bed I kept on imagining how I had 200$. I would imagine my mom coming into my room and saying that she got 200$ or affirm that I had it. I even dared to get a bit bolder and start affirming that I would get more.

When any doubts would arise especially logical ones I would just go "Is logic really necessary?" and start questioning the logic. Like wdym "Where would you get that money from" or "It's impossible, there's no reason as to why I would just get money without any reason" I questioned the logic instead of making the logic question me.

Anyways, I just accepted that I had it and fell asleep. I did have a strange dream tho but nonetheless I fell asleep knowing I had it and that it was inevitable that I was going to wake up to the news of it.

Persist

Whenever I wake up I am in a kind of daze for like 10 minutes where I'm awake but my eyes are closed and my mind is really foggy, almost like I'm between the border of the waking world and the dream world (just say hypnogogia girl). I've always thought that this state would be good for manifesting but I've never done it.

When I woke up and was in this daze like state I decided to take advantage of it and do the same thing I did before I fell asleep, after that I just continued on with my day occasionally thinking about I should buy. I wasn't even worrying about the money I just knew that I had it.

That morning my mom had gone out to buy some groceries and when she came home she just told me that she had gotten 250$ and what was my reaction to that you may wonder, it was just a simple "cool". I didn't even realize that it had manifested because I already knew it would happen but like on a subconscious level, so I was just thinking that it was nice and not like "WOWOWOOWOWOW WATAHECK I JUST MANIFESTED 200$"

It was not until 3 hours had passed and I was in the bathroom washing my hands that I realized that it was ME who was the reason for the money, and even then I just gasped really quickly and calmed down. Maybe I'm just that type of person who calms down fast? Anyways, the title did say that I manifested money two times right?

Decide + Imagine it and accept it + Persist

After going shopping I was sad because buying things actually cost money!!! WDYM YOU'RE TAKING MY MONEY AFTER I JUST BOUGHT SOMETHING!!! I THOUGHT THE NUMBERS ONSCREEN WERE THERE JUST TO INTIMIDATE ME AND NOT THE AMOUNT YOU'RE TAKING FROM ME/j

As I was walking out the mall I was decided to change my mindset from that of a person who just spent a lot of money and is sad about it to a person who doesn't care because they know money goes round and round and they'll eventually get it back.

Essentially: poor person mindset → rich person mindset.

When I got home I talked to my dad and he was like "Blah blah blah... focus on your studies...blah blah blah...take care of yourself...blah blah blah I'm giving you 150$...blah blah blah...again focus on school..."

Again I only realized I just manifested it when I opened tumblr LMAO, and I guess my advice is stick with a mindset and know it'll happen, you don't need to affirm a thousand times or constantly think about not that doing those things don't work and will ruin your manifestation but relaxing is also nice I guess.

a/n: what a yapfest lol anyways the other two mini success were manifesting a toothbrush and changing the weather to fog, bye for now !!

divider by @/anitalenia

[kjupchurch-xx]

Conflicting Feelings Part Two

Author's Note: Wow! I was expecting negative feedback from Conflicting Feelings and I'm absolutely blown away at how it's been received on WattPad, especially Tumblr. I'm thankful to each and everyone of you that takes the time out to read my stories. They're literally my own personal fantasies in my mind, so I wasn't expecting others to enjoy them as much as I obviously do. But thank you for all of the love! 

The night had flown by as we laid on the sofa holding one another in silence. I felt his breathing steady, looking up slightly to see him sleeping. I sighed. I didn't know what to say or what to feel. There was no doubt in my mind that I loved him. The problem is the guilt I feel knowing that my friendship with him is what caused his marriage to collapse. I'm well aware that I can't control someone else's emotions or actions, and I know that throughout the course of our friendship, I did nothing wrong but the thoughts still consume me. 

Had he never met me, would his marriage be ending? Would he have found solace in another person?  I'd always envisioned that if this were to ever become a reality, it would be done very differently. This is not what I wanted, but did I want him? Absolutely. Truth be told, I'd never wanted anything more. 

I tilted my head, looking at him as I softly caressed his beard sighing to myself as I anxiously chewed at my bottom lip. I pulled my phone from my pocket, clicking on social media to see the news of their split had hit the internet. I shook my head, putting my phone beside me. I knew their marriage wasn't the most loving. Every premiere we'd go to for his movies, even his musicals, Deb never seemed interested. She could always be found in the crowd dozed off, being shaken awake just in the nick of time to give him a round of applause at the end. He knew this. I was always the one cheering, watching his every move even if I was bored out of my mind. I was the one who would spend hours going over lines with him when I had zero involvement in the film or play he was doing. When she would try to talk him out of certain scripts, I'd encourage them, not to spite her but because I knew he would make it a hit. 

My supportive nature was what he craved the most. He craved someone that believed in him, pushed him to do better and to further his career, and for years, ever since she tried talking him out of the X-Men script calling it a flop, he never received it from her. When his father passed and all she could manage to do was say she was sorry was when he started to realize the younger woman that had his back and supported him in every aspect of his life, even when she herself wasn't interested. The effect it had on him drove him mad and he couldn't continue denying his feelings. 

 I wrapped my arms tightly around him, closing my eyes as  took his scent in, "If you only knew how much I love you..." I said, barely above a whisper. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Including flying halfway across the world. I just wish things could be different..." I finished with a deep shaky breath.

His grip tightened on me, "That's the thing. Things are different." He said softly as I lifted my head to look up at him. "How long have you been awake?" I asked, furrowing my brows slightly. 

He chuckled, "Long enough to hear what you said.", I nodded with a chuckle, "Touche." 

He cleared his throat, "Let me take you to lunch tomorrow." 

I lifted myself off of him, quickly shaking my head no, "Absolutely not. Are you crazy?" I yelled. 

He rolled his eyes, "Why do you act as if being with me is such a bad thing?" He asked getting defensive, his words dripping with hurt. 

I looked at him, lowering my voice, "Hugh, that's not what I'm saying." 

He looked at, throwing his hands up in defeat, "It's not?! What are you saying then?!" he shouted at me. 

I rolled my eyes becoming annoyed at his shouting, "I'm saying news of your separation made headlines today. I don't think the smartest thing in the world would be for my face to be blasted all over the internet as a mistress just because I had lunch with you."

He calmed down, sighing, running his fingers through his hair, "Why do you all of a sudden give a shit about people's opinions?" 

I sighed, "Look, I know you don't get it. People not liking me is fine. But people humiliating me and possibly canceling me before I can fully kick start my career because they assume I'm some dirty mistress is different." I said honestly.  He looked at me and I knew judging by his expression that he understood my hesitance. "I'm just saying we need to lay low and look as platonic as possible right now. Let's let some time pass before we start advertising this to the world." 

He nodded, giving his shoulders a shrug, relaxing a little. "If you want to get take out, we can do that. I would love to have lunch with you, I'm just not ready to be ripped in half by the press yet." I said softly, caressing the side of his check. "That's all it is. I would never say that being with you is a bad thing. I love you with all of my heart. We just need to give it more than one day after a separation has been announced. At least a few months." 

He nodded once more, pulling me onto his lap. "I know you're right. It's just difficult when I've already been waiting two years for this." He said annoyingly, resting his head in the crook of my neck. 

I laughed softly, pressing a kiss on the top of his hair, resting my chin atop of his head. "I know, I know. Just trust me, you do not want the press printing that you've got a girlfriend the same day your soon to be ex-wife announces your separation." 

I felt him smile against my neck, "Okay, maybe you're right." He mumbled, against my neck causing me to laugh, squirming. "What? What's so funny?" He asked, caressing my neck with his face. 

He knew what I was laughing at. 

"Your beard. It tickles." I said through laughter. "Does it?" He asked cheekily, continuing to rub his face into my neck causing me to try and get off of his lap, but he kept his grip on my waist, preventing me from moving. "Where do you think you're goin', love?" He asked with an amusing tone. 

"Away from you. Stop messing with me." I said continuing to laugh while struggling to get out of his grip. 

He smirked, "Stop messing with you? How should I mess with you then? Like this?" He asked, pulling us down to the sofa as he pressed his forehead against mine, looking deeply into my eyes, with a smile plastered on his face. 

His eyes went from my eyes down to my lips, then back up to my eyes. "I love you." He said sweetly, "I love you." I assured him, as I felt his hands cup both sides of my cheeks and his lips land on mine. 

[ooffmlsorry]

Hold Me Closer

Law x reader

2.4k words, slow burn for a tumblr post i guess??

A/N: Law is such a touch-starved disaster in this god bless him. Don't worry...this is my last drunk post. I don't wanna accidentally promote alcoholism on this good Christian hellsite I just need to write my fav blorbo drunk and in love once and then I'm good.

CW: drinking, drunk behavior

"You know, for as smart as Law is you really can manipulate him into just about anything," Nami says. "He's no better than Luffy, as soon as you tell him he can't do something he has to go and try it."

"Huh?" You're drunk, and by the look of the Straw Hat's navigator significantly more so than her. (What are the Straw Hats' livers made out of? Steel?)

You follow your gaze to your captain, Trafalgar Law, and feel a giddy bubble of laughter make its way through you. "I'm just happy to see him cut loose for once," you say. From the looks of it he might actually be tipsy. Law’s cheeks are flushed a little and he’s talking animatedly about something. The shine in his eyes captivate you. 

Yeah, you're definitely feeling the effects if you're openly giggling at the sight of him.

Despite your last thought you take another sip of your drink. It stopped tasting sweet and sharp a while ago and is starting to taste more and more like I should be next to him.

"He's so beautiful when he's happy," you mutter.

"What?!" Nami presses her hand flush to her chest and turns to look at you. A mischievous grin passes over her tipsy face, "beautiful, huh?" She pokes your side playfully and giggles. "What's that supposed to mean?”

"Nothing!" You flinch away from her and drain your drink to quench your suddenly dry mouth. "You like seeing Luffy happy! It's the same thing!"

She laughs so loud and so hard she nearly falls out of her chair. "Oh yeah! Sure! But have you ever heard me call Luffy beautiful?"

At that exact moment you watch Luffy snort with laughter and shoot beer out of his nose. 

"Point taken.”

“He’s not my type, that’s for sure,” Nami says.

“No, your type is Alabastan princesses,” you tease back. 

“Hey!” Her ears pink a little more. “It’s not…” she stammers. “You know what! You’re getting me my next drink just for that!” She pushes her empty mug towards you. “Chop! Chop, Y/N! I’m thirsty!” 

You roll your eyes. It’s true all the Straw Hats are bossy in one way or another, no wonder they exhaust Law. You grab her mug and yours and head to the bar for another round.

Your eyes move back to where you last saw Law talking with someone, except he wasn’t there anymore. Where did he go? The room’s crowded with people talking and laughing, yelling and singing. Between the alcohol and another raucous round of Binx’s Sake sung across the banquet, it’s hard to focus. Did he leave already? Disappointment washed over you, but you weren’t surprised. That would be your captain, Trafalgar Law, ever restrained. 

You sighed. Hopefully he didn’t go back to the ship to get more work done. You fill up yours and Nami’s cup and start to head back to your seat. 

“You’re drinking poison, you know that Y/N-ya?” 

You nearly jump out of your skin at the hot breath against the shell of your ear. Then, you process what was said to you. Poison? Instinctively you reach for a weapon, and then remember you left it behind. 

“What? Law—” 

Barely have room to turn around, he’s standing so close to you. The flush in cheeks is darker than you realized and his dark eyes have lost some of their sharpness. A mischievous smirk plays upon his lips. “And you tell me I need to lighten up?” You’re not met with the level of seriousness you normally expect from your captain. “This,” he holds his mug up, only nearly sloshing its contents, “is poison. It’s the ethanol. That’s what slows you down, it’s not all that different from slowly poisoning yourself.” He puts the cup up to his lips and tips it back. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, the muscles of his neck visible to you until they disappear into his collar bones. You wish you could run your fingers down the column of his throat and watch goosebumps rise in your wake. If he would even have anyone.

It must be the drinks. That’s the only reason you can think of to explain why you want to place your hand there and feel his skin. To touch him. 

“Neither of us should be drinking this, Y/N-ya,” he says. There’s no sterness in his tone like he would if he was lecturing you, in fact, you realize your captain’s likely joking with you…in his own way. 

“Well, sometimes you have to die a little to live a little.” You wink at him. 

Law’s lips part a little and his eyes widen. “I–You–” He looks away from you and takes another sip. “That’s your justification? Ridiculous.”

“It sure is!” You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you take a small step closer, deciding to tease him a little. After all, he started it first by sneaking up on you, “what’s yours?”   

Law stares at you—speechless. 

“You’re something else, you know that?” You don’t have time to hide your laughter except behind your hand. “You don’t need to justify yourself, Law. I’m just happy you’re here!” 

Warmth spreads across your captain’s face. It travels up to the tips of his ears which look crimson next to his spotted white hat and down his chest to the heart tattoo that rests there. For a moment you fixate on his skin, the ink swirling across it, the blood pumping underneath, a sign that he’s alive and solid, standing in front of you. Curiosity rears its untameable head, how can you know he’s solid if you’ve never touched him? A missing piece of Law sits in front of you and you want. 

“Just don’t drink too much,” he says quickly and side steps to walk around you. 

You watch him go, shaking your head with a smile. “I would say, hope he does the same, but it’d be funny if he didn’t.” 

“Y/N!!” Nami calls. “Where’s my drink!?”

“Coming!” 

Later…

Oh yeah, you’ve done it now. Somewhere between fruitlessly trying to keep up with Nami, drowning your thoughts of Law, and enjoying the party, you’re certain you’ve overdone it…and you’ve only accomplished the latter. 

“That’s enough or I’m gonna die,” you stand up and your head swims. You use the chair you were sitting in to stablize yourself. 

“Boo!” Shachi says weakly. Although his head is resting on the table, barely awake.

“Yeah, Boo!” Nami repeats.“Who’s gonna watch me drain your crew of all their money?!” 

 You shrug,“Bepo will.”

The first mate of the Heart Pirates was laid out on the floor asleep. 

“Any chance you know where Law is?” 

“Last I saw him, he went outside,” Penguin says. He grins and laughs a little before slipping out of his chair with a thud.

Safe to say the Heart Pirates were a crew of light weights. 

You stumble toward the door that leads out to the balcony. Outside the night air is cold enough to send a shiver through you, but Penguin didn’t send you out there for nothing. Law is sitting with his legs between the balcony bars, his head leaning on another. In the light of paper lanterns you saw his hand moving in quick small movements. Next to him sat an empty bottle of umeshu.

“Either you’re jacking off out here or you’re working. Only one of those things would be disappointing to me,” you say. In the back of your mind you know you’d never say something like that out loud but alcohol makes your lips loose. 

The sound Law makes is less than controlled as he jerks a book shut and sits on it. “NEVER SAY THAT AGAIN!”  

You start laughing and fall down next to him unceremoniously, nearly landing flat on your back. “I’m sorry, captain! I couldn’t–I couldn’t help myself!” you howl with laughter. “Please! I didn’t–the joke was just right there!” 

You hear Law grumble-slur something, but he’s either too drunk or too tired to get up and leave you because he stays where he is. 

“I mean it,” you say, catching your breath. “I am sorry. I just came out here to tell you I think the party’s dying down. You can come inside if you want to. It’s only supposed to get colder tonight.” 

“I will when I’m ready,” Law slurs. 

“As always,” you sigh heavily. “I’ve learned to stop expecting you to do something just because I think it’s a good idea

That wins you a brief smile from your captain, a rarity, surely brought out of him by the drink alone. “You…you can stay,” he says quietly. “If you’d like to. I don’t care either way. Really, I don’t. ” 

Normally, you’d at least begin to believe him, but you know your captain…and he’s already draped half of his long blue coat around you. The scent cologne and antiseptic envelope you. 

“You probably should’ve said that before you put your coat around me, Law.” 

He tenses for a moment. The brim of his hat hides his eyes. “Forgive me, Y/N-ya I’m being ridiculous,” he mumbles.

So shy! 

“I was going to stay anyway,” you say, before he can pull away. “And thank you, I’m probably chillier than I know.” 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while connected only by this moment and Law’s coat draped over both of you. You can feel the warmth radiating from his arm, his side, his thigh, all nearly touching you. 

“Did you have a good time?” 

“As long as I don’t remember any of this tomorrow, you can tell me I did.” 

“Good!” You chirp. “I’ll take it!” 

Law picks up the bottle and takes a long pull. “Did you?” 

“Yup! It’s the first party I’ve been to in a long time. Actually, I haven’t been to any, but that’s another story from before…well, everything.” 

Law snorts, but he doesn’t turn back to leaning his head on the guard bars, instead he stares at you with an expression close to contentment. “Good,” he says. 

Your faces stay a few inches from each other. There’s an eyelash resting on his cheek, just out of your reach and before you can think you gently cup your captain’s face and swipe the eyelash away. 

In an instant he’s solid. Smooth skin and bone rest just below your fingertips. And somehow, despite the sharp angles of Law’s face all you feel is softness and warmth against your skin. To your surprise he doesn’t move away. 

“I’m sorry, you just had an eyelash…” You go to pull your hand back and Law catches your wrist in a grip that’s nearly too tight.

His eyes flutter as he rests his face in your hand. “It feels so nice,” he says. He doesn’t stop you when you slide your fingers up his sideburns into the silky spikes of his hair. You remove his hat and place it beside him. 

Contact between you and Law has been minimal, even after you explained your devil fruit only works on inanimate objects. You think he’s been especially cautious around you not to touch you–even if by accident. Touch doesn’t come easy to you, unconsciously building a wall between yourself and others, with Law being the same that wall felt doubly thick. Only to come crashing down over drinks and an errant eyelash. Touching Law plugs a hole dug out of both want and curiosity that you’ve been ignoring.

Law leans into you as if being pulled down by magnetism until he’s almost on top of you. Your thumb settles behind his ear along the nape of his neck and rubs back and forth slowly. 

You look down at him, his eyes shut and lips barely parted. If it weren’t for the fingers working up the back of your shirt, you’d think he was asleep. Law’s hand stops at the small of your back, resting there like a warm patch. It feels so utterly right having the captain of the Heart Pirates in your arms, as if holding Law was one of the many things they were made for. 

Honesty takes over you. “I think I like being close to you, Law. It feels…warm…good,” you speak softly. If you could be like this all the time you wouldn’t complain. You receive a throaty rumble in response, not unlike a purring animal. “You must be drunk,” you chuckle.

“Extremely.” 

You’re not sure if you feel like you’re spinning from all the alcohol or because of this moment with Law. Eventually you begin to hum softly, and sleep begins to take hold of you. 

“Y/N-ya,” you hear Law say groggily. 

You hum a sound in response to show you’re still awake to listen to him. Law’s arms tighten around you and you understand instantly what he won’t let himself say. Against both your better judgment you drift off to sleep together on the balcony.  

The Next Morning…

Law awakens to dawn’s blinding sun and a pounding headache. His mouth feels cottony and his stomach roils in a way that doesn’t immediately threaten vomit but could. The second thing he takes in is that he’s outside; he never made it to his bed or any bed for that matter. And third, you. 

You’re still asleep, your chin nearly touching your chest and soft snore escaping you with every exhale. You don’t stir as he pulls himself away from you. The realization that he slept on you rocks through him. The sun’s barely risen and his heart’s already racing.

What did I do? 

He rubs at his eyes and scrubs a hand through his hair. Where’s my hat? He quickly finds it and pulls the brim down low enough to block the sun. 

Law takes off his jacket and covers you with it, only when he’s wrapped it around your shoulders do you grumble and smack your lips sleepily. “Don’t worry, Law. All’s good, had fun,” you mumble. 

He freezes. Out of everything he thought you would say, reassuring him didn’t cross his mind. 

Your eyes crack open just enough to look at his stunned face. “Yesterday’s already forgotten.” Loose limbed, you make a sealed lips gesture as if to say your secret's safe with me. 

Law stands and grabs his journal. He takes one more glance at you and feels butterflies flutter from his stomach up to his chest. That's the second time he's felt safe around you, he notes. It's information he chooses to ignore.

[starryhyuck]

how long before we fall in love? (m) — PATREON EXCLUSIVE

pairing: tsundere!doyoung x afab!reader

words: 5k+

summary: your friends don’t think you could possibly get the cold, mean-spirited kim doyoung to beg for you. it’s time to prove them wrong.

genre: smut, fluff

warnings: harddom!doyoung, daddy kink, throat fucking, degradation, car sex, choking, creampie

this fic is exclusive to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here! below is a tumblr preview

Kim Doyoung is two years older than you and about to graduate university.

He’s your perfect type — studious, outgoing, and incredibly caring of others. You almost tripped over your own two feet when you first laid eyes on his adorable bunny smile and button nose that you so desperately want to boop. He’s the walking fantasy of every girl’s ideal husband.

The only problem with your crush is that he hates you.

“Hi, Doyoung,” you say in a flirtatious tone, following him as he walks out of his business operations class. He ignores you, backpack slung over his shoulder as he picks up his pace. You chase after him, convincing yourself that he didn’t hear you the first time. “How was class? I heard Professor Park can be so strict with grading but since you’re top of the class, that must mean you’re his favorite! I mean, they don’t call you a gifted scholar for nothing-“

“I’m not in the mood.”

His voice is curt as he rounds the corner of the building, heading down the stairs. You’re quick to follow him, trying to keep up with his footsteps.

“That’s fine! Some days I’m not really in the mood either. Talking to people can be so exhausting, but I think it’s important to build good social skills.”

Taeyong waits for Doyoung at the bottom of the staircase, eyebrow raised when he sees you trailing not too far behind. Around campus, Taeyong was known as the happy social butterfly with his unique fashion style and colorful hair dos. Once he graduated last year, he was able to secure a job as a social media manager for a respected designer brand. He still lingers on campus from time to time to hang out with Doyoung and some of their other friends. He is very well aware of your pining after his best friend, and it brings him a certain amusement that nothing else can compare to.

Taeyong says your name joyfully. “Are you joining us for lunch today?”

You beam, excited to accept the invitation before Doyoung cuts you off.

“No, she’s not,” he replies with a pointed glare to Taeyong.

“Oh, I don’t mind! I’m done with classes for the rest of the day,” you say with a sparkle gleaming in your eye. The thought of having lunch with Kim Doyoung fulfilled some of your greatest fantasies.

Maybe you’d have remnants of food left over on your chin and he would wipe it away for you! Maybe the portions would be too big so you decide to share! Maybe he pulls out your chair for you when you sit down and holds your purse so no one steals it!

“I don’t want you to join,” Doyoung says with hard conviction.

Taeyong winces at the spiteful nature in his tone. You’re not deterred in the slightest, still blinking at him with a ditzy smile. You guess if he didn’t want to have lunch with you today, surely he would be open to it another time.

want to read the rest? access the $5 tier on my patreon here!

[dem-obscure-imagines]

You're So Timeless | Vol. 2

Steve Rogers x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Summary: In 1943, Steve Rogers was visited by his soulmate. He fell hard. Problem is, she was from the future and didn’t stick around for long. Now, in the twenty-first century, he finally found her again, except this version of her hasn’t met him yet and won’t know he’s her soulmate for another year. 

Note: So this is a combination of my other two Steve Rogers soulmate AU fics, but lengthened and fleshed out into a full fic. I was literally possessed to write this. I have no other explanation. I really like how it came out. I gave this one chapter headings (I am also going to post it to Ao3) and yes some are Taylor Swift titles. Sorry about that. It takes place roughly around the time Civil War would, but we have managed to avoid the war this time around. I also moved some other characters up the timeline because I think they’re neat and I said so. Without further ado, please enjoy my new Magnum Opus.

Also Tumblr made me split it into two parts. This is PART 2. Part 1 is linked HERE.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/injuries, soulmate au, tons of mutual pining, kind of a slowburn but in reverse. Light angst, but a happy ending.

Word Count: 38.7k total (I am not sorry)

Reader Is: Enhanced (forcefields), 24 years old, female 

The Recovery Period

When you woke up, Steve was there sitting in the infirmary, sleeping. His head was leaning back against the wall, snores deep and quiet. It was dark. You weren’t sure how long it had been. You blinked a few times and took a breath, your chest protesting when you did.

The monitor you were hooked to started beeping loudly and Steve awoke, meeting your eyes. He called for Bruce and stood from his chair, approaching the side of your bed. You reached for his hand and he gave it to you immediately, fingers latching onto yours, as though to prove you were awake, that you were alive.

Bruce arrived and gave you the rundown, the grenade, which you remembered, the fact that you had a cracked rib and quite a bit of bruising, but that you had gotten very lucky otherwise. He prescribed you some pain meds and six weeks of rest with a brace before he’d reevaluate.

And at first, it wasn’t bad. Sam played a lot of Fortnite with you. You were pretty good at it, surprisingly. Tony had a pretty extensive collection of movies and you had every snack you could ever dream of. You got some reading done, you picked up crochet, and everyone spent a lot of time entertaining you.

Bucky introduced himself. Steve had talked about him a bit before you met him, but the man standing in front of you was a lot quieter than you’d expected, more timid. You figured he’d open up more once he was convinced none of you were scared of him. And you weren’t. The dangerous part of him was the Winter Soldier, something Wanda had been working with him to unwind from the depths of his mind.

After a few days, when your pain had toned down a bit, Natasha sat you on a stool in the kitchen and gave your hair a trim, getting rid of the singed ends. Wanda got into the undercover stash in one of the bathrooms and found a few bottles of hair bleach and some blue dye. Steve found the three of you in there with hair shears, and a bowl of mixed blue dye that Wanda was painting onto your freshly bleached ends.

He had no complaints. After all, blue was your color. It was quite a bit shorter, too, but he thought it suited you. He thought everything suited you, to be honest.

You did some online shopping in those first few weeks. Your Avengers allowance was no joke and you had barely touched any of it yet, which meant a new reading chair was well within the budget, a cool round one than you could hang from the ceiling. It was Steve that found you pushing the giant box down the hall when it arrived.

“Hey! Woah, are you supposed to be pushing that?”

You froze, turning to face him. “Maaaaybe.”

“Alright, move.” He chuckled, rolling up his sleeves and taking over, pushing it down the hall to your room. “What is this anyway?”

“New reading chair. It’s really cool, it hangs from the ceiling.”

“And you were going to do that part, too?”

“I was gonna figure it out. Maybe use my powers for that part.”

“Ah, right. Forgot about those.”

“Me too, honestly. Haven’t used them much lately.”

“For good reason.” He straightened out, the box now sitting in the middle of your room. “How are you feeling, better?”

“A lot better. Still a little sore, but my bruises are starting to clear up.” You motioned to the brace you had to wear around your middle. “Might be out of this thing before six weeks if I can help it.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see what Bruce says.”

“Of course.” You nodded, using a pair of scissors to slice the tape along the top of the box.

Steve opened it up and started taking parts out. You reached for the instructions and sat down next to him on the floor, familiarizing yourself with the process. It didn’t look too difficult and it was only a few pieces of hardware.

“I’m gonna go grab some of Tony’s tools.” He told you, walking towards Tony’s workroom. He returned a few minutes later with a drill and a screwdriver. “Alright, where are we starting?”

“Okay, so we attach the chair part to the support chains, and then those get screwed into the ceiling. Like this.” You showed him the diagram.

“I’m no handyman, but I think we can figure it out.” He grinned, scooting a little closer to you.

“Oh I’m sure we can.”

It didn’t take long. Less than an hour. The two of you talked, joked, laughed. Eventually, you used your powers to hold the thing in place so Steve could screw it into the ceiling. He got off the stepladder and sat in the chair, testing the strength of the chair himself before deciding it was good enough for you. With a smile, he got up and motioned for you to give it a try.

You put the cushions on the chair and sat down, smiling. “I’ve always wanted a chair like this.”

“Well I’m glad I could help that dream come true.” He chuckled. He handed you the book sitting on your desk. “Here, give it a real test.”

“Oh good idea.” You chuckled, positioning the book in your hands, curling your legs into your desired reading position. Yep, it worked. And it was pretty comfortable. “Now all I need is a little lamp over here.”

“Let me know when that comes in.” Steve chuckled, thumbs tucked into his pockets. “I’ll be here.”

Steve watched you with a soft smile, how happy you were. Maybe someday, he would build other things for you, in a house you shared. A nice little place in the suburbs, or on a farm somewhere, like Clint had made for his wife, Laura. He’d build you a million reading chairs. Hell, he’d build you a whole library if it’d put that smile on your face.

“You ever built Legos before?” you asked.

“I don’t even know what those are.”

“Alright, we’ll fix that. There’s a really easy fix to that, actually.” You pulled out your phone, clicked a few links, and then looked back up at him with a smile. “It’s on its way.”

“What’s that look for?”

“You will find out in two to three business days.”

***

By the time your Millennuim Falcon Lego set came in, Steve had been sent on another mission. And while he was gone, the Compound got an unexpected visitor in the form of Scott Lang, who Sam found on the roof and promptly got his ass kicked by while you were sitting at the monitors, one of the only things that you could do with your current injury.

“Don’t tell Steve.”

“Oh I won’t.” You spun out of your office chair, made a portal to the warehouse, and stepped through it, using your augmented goggles to find the guy, trapping him in a tiny forcefield. Sam came into the warehouse shortly after, looking at the bubble you’d made with interest.

“Got him. Ow!” Something nipped at your ankle and you looked down to find hundreds of ants. “Oh FUCK no.” You dropped him and kicked off the ants, making a platform of energy to stand on so they couldn’t crawl on you.

“Hey man, she’s injured!” Sam called into the room, looking around for wherever he had gone.

“Sorry!” The attacker replied.

And that was the last you saw or heard from him until Sam tracked him down, offering him membership on the team, if he so wanted it. Someone who shrunk could be a great asset on the team. Which is why when he told the rest of you about Hope, someone who did the same but with wings, obviously, she was invited, too.

The team was growing, and as it did, the Compound felt less empty, which was nice, especially when the team was split off doing their own things.

Steve came back shortly after, looking tired. It hadn’t been anything too bad, from what you’d heard, but he, Natasha, Clint, and Tony had been gone for a week. Still, the moment he was back, he popped his head into your room.

“Hey.”

“When did you guys get back?” You asked, looking up from your book, curled up in your reading chair.

“Just now. Um, I’m gonna take a shower, and then…Legos?” He asked, eyes earnest. You could tell he had been thinking about it the whole time he’d been gone.

“Oh absolutely. I’ve got ‘em ready to go.”

“Excellent. See you in twenty.” He saluted, walking down the hall to his room. You got the massive box of Legos out of your closet and brought it out to the table in the lounge, waiting patiently for Steve, who got out of the shower not that long after, dressed in sweats and a tank-top, still a bit damp from the water.

“Tadaaaa~” you said, pushing the box across the table. 

His eyes lit up as soon as he realized what it was. “Where did you get this?”

“Amazon.”

“It comes with Han Solo?” Steve asked, looking at the pictures of the minifigures on the box.

“Yeah, of course it does. Comes with Leia, too.” You grinned, opening the box and dealing out instruction manuals, sorting the bags into neat little piles.

“This is great.” He smiled. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” You shrugged. “I owe you one for building my reading chair. Now pay attention; This little orange thing is a Lego separator. It’ll help if you get them stuck together and can’t get them apart. Oh, and do not step on them. It will hurt so bad.”

He chuckled. “Thanks for the heads-up. So where do we start?”

Catch Me Now

Finally, after what felt like the longest recovery period ever, you were cleared once more for missions and training. However, you didn’t have any at the moment. Missions, that was. You were back to training with the others three times a week. Steve had you back on a workout regimen, but he was treating you different, like at any moment your rib might randomly re-crack.

Wanda and Vision got sent off on a mission with Clint, a recruitment mission. Apparently, there was another archer on his radar. A good one. It was his hope that with another archer on the team, he could take a bit of a step back, still be involved when he was needed, but hopefully, he’d be able to spend some more time with his family.

This meant, however, that you didn’t have anyone to go to the local theater’s Hunger Games marathon with. You asked Natasha first, but she was busy looking through some files, working out the details of the coming missions.

“I think Steve is here today. You could ask him if he wants to go.”

You could, you supposed. You felt a lot closer to him, lately. You had been spending a lot of time with him, between the extra training and the Legos. He had custody of the Millennium Falcon set, but he’d given you the Leia minifigure. She was sitting on your desk in your room.

So, with a shrug, you agreed, walking down the hall to Steve’s room and knocking on the door. He and Bucky were in there, talking hushedly about something, but they quieted at the sound of your knuckles against the wood.

The door opened and Bucky looked down at you, smiling when he realized who it was. “Oh, hey, (Y/N).” He welcomed you in, shooting Steve a look.

“Hey, (Y/N). What’s going on?”

“If you’re busy, I can come back later.”

“Oh, no, we’re just…catching up.” Steve said.

“Gotcha. So um…Wanda was supposed to go to a movie marathon with me at the mall today, but she forgot she had to go on that mission, so I was wondering if you wanted to come with? I already bought the tickets.”

“Oh, sure. What movies?”

“The Hunger Games.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Steve nodded. “Just let me get changed.”

“You can come too, if you want, Bucky. I’m sure they’re not sold out.”

“Oh, that is alright, (Y/N). Thank you, though. I’ve gotta work myself up to public outings.” He looked between the two of you, a weird sparkle in his eye. “You two have fun.”

“Will do.” Steve replied, chuckling as his friend left.

You left after, getting changed into the outfit you’d picked out. It was pretty simple: a bleach-dyed Hunger Games shirt, some comfy joggers for the long day ahead, and a pair of slip-on shoes. You grabbed your purse and walked back out to the living room, where Steve was waiting, dressed in his civilian disguise, a baseball cap and glasses. No one would ever recognize him in glasses.

“Ready?”

“Ready.” You nodded, plucking your keys off of the hook by the door.

“Oh, I can drive.” Steve offered.

“Okay.” You agreed, putting your keys back.

He picked up his instead, from the hook next to yours. You walked out and got in Steve’s car, hopping in the passenger seat. The mall was about an hour out. Steve took the backroads, the scenic route. But you didn’t have to give him directions. He knew where he was going. After all, it was the same mall where he had met you.

You gazed out the window, watching the trees go by, looking for deer. Steve gazed over at you every so often, thinking about how someday, when you were driving places, he’d be able to reach over and take your hand, bring it to his lips. His heart ached just thinking about it. The next four and a half months couldn’t pass quickly enough.

“So what are these movies about? I keep hearing about them.” He asked, desperate to hear your voice.

“Are you familiar with the dystopian genre?”

“Yeah, kinda. Like weird, bad future kinda stuff.”

“Exactly. So this one is in a world called Panem, which is supposed to be North America hundreds of years from now. There’s twelve districts and a Capitol that rules over them all. Because of a rebellion about seventy-four years earlier, every year, two kids are chosen from each district to battle to the death in an arena.”

“Woah.”

“Yeah it’s kind of a lot. It’s really good, though. Lots of commentary on the United States government. No offense.”

He chuckled. “None taken. The America I stood for back then…I’m learning it was a different America from the one we live in now. But it’s hard to shake a name that’s been stuck with you for the better part of a century.”

“What would you choose?”

“What name?”

“Yeah, if you got to choose again, now, what codename would you choose?”

“Oh, gosh, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Something cool. I’d need help workshopping. And you? If you got to choose again?”

“I’m good with Waypoint. For a while, at least.” You shrugged. “It’s kinda fitting, all things considered.”

“It is. Suits you.”

“Thanks.” You chuckled. “So how is everything? How is Bucky doing?”

“Good. They’re um, scheduling a day to test out his…what’re they called, his trigger words? To see if Wanda’s tinkering in his head has been working.”

“Oh wow. That sounds like a lot.”

“It is. He’s nervous, but he knows it has to be done.” Steve sighed and gave a shrug. “And whatever happens, he’s got us to catch him, figure out what comes next.”

“Absolutely.” You nodded.

Steve pulled into the mall parking lot, following the signs to find the doors closest to the theater. You handed him his ticket, which was printed on shimmery, gold paper, the Mockingjay symbol stamped on in black ink. You reached into your pocket and handed him a length of string with beads on it.

“I made it for Wanda, so it might not fit.” You warned.

He read the words, spaced between orange and black and gold beads. “District 12?”

“It’ll make more sense in a bit.” You chuckled and held out your wrist, where the matching one was. “Gotta represent.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He slipped the bracelet on, the beads spaced out and stretched around his wide wrist. “See, fits fine.”

“Uh-huh, sure does.” You laughed. “Look, it fits perfectly. You can almost read it.”

“Just about.” He grinned, reaching for the door handle.

“So, what’s our cover?”

“What?”

“Our cover. We can’t be Avengers here.”

“Right, um…” Steve thought for a moment. “You work at the library. I’m your boyfriend and you dragged me here, but I’m very supportive.”

“The most supportive.” You agreed. “Alright, I’ll play. Let’s go.”

Steve locked up the car, the horn honking as the two of you walked towards the entrance of the mall. You led him upstairs to the movie theater entrance. You checked in with your tickets and the girls at the table gave you your commemorative popcorn tins and cups. Steve went to get the popcorn filled. You stood over by the soda fountains. He returned with a huge grin and a bucket of popcorn.

“Look at this! They’re so big now.”

You laughed. “How big were they before?”

“Little paper bag.” He chuckled and turned towards the Cocacola Freestyle machine, looking at the buttons with wonder. “Alright what is this?”

“The future of beverage technology.” You told him, putting ice in your cup and tapping one of the beverage options, opening up all the extra flavors before choosing yours.

Steve poked the Coke button and read over all the options before settling on Cherry Vanilla Coke. He snapped the lid on and put a straw in it, taking a cursory sip. He smiled. “Takes me back.”

“Got that vintage taste?” You asked.

He nodded. “At the risk of sounding like a commercial, yeah, it does.”

You led Steve to the theater where you’d be spending the entire rest of the day. You walked him through the schedule. First was Hunger Games from noon until 2:22. There’d be a ten minute break, then Catching Fire from 2:32 to 4:58. There was a forty-five minute break for dinner. Then Mockingjay Parts 1 and 2 until just after ten. Every movie, they punched a hole in your ticket, and if you got all four, they were handing out little prizes, supposedly. You weren’t sure what yet, but you were excited to find out.

“Got a long day ahead of us.”

“I better not catch you nodding off.” You teased, kicking back the recliner.

“I don’t snore that loud.” He said, following your lead and pressing the same button to lift his. God, theaters had changed. He set the popcorn tin between the two of you. He couldn’t count on two hands how many pointless dates he’d gone on with Bucky before he met you for the first time, how many pretty dames he’d offered popcorn, only for them to completely blow him off. But when he’d taken you to the movies back then, you’d shared gladly. And today was no different. You scooted closer, your hand brushing his every so often.

The movie started and Steve watched, enamored. It was different than the movies he was used to, sure. Maybe Star Wars had warmed him up, or maybe it was the fact that you were sitting there beside him, but he loved every second.

Between movies, the two of you went back out to the lobby to get your tickets punched for Catching Fire, stretch your legs and get refills. Steve noticed a handout for the flashback movies that were coming up. His eyes landed on the Wizard of Oz and his gaze softened.

“They still show this?” Steve asked, pointing to the poster.

“Yeah, every handful of years. It’s a classic.” You smiled. “I think I was Dorothy for Halloween one year.”

“Would you go see it with me?” He asked.

“Yeah, of course.”

Sure, things were different between you and Steve than he thought it would be. He knew it would be a while before you’d know. You’d told him you’d been friends for about a year before visiting him, but it felt so much longer, living through every day, scared to even take your hand without sending the wrong message.

You saved him the trouble, though, reaching out for his free hand. He took it without hesitation, giving it a squeeze. God, he’d do anything to kiss you, but he knew that would be stepping clear over that line. Holding hands was friendly enough. Hell, you held Wanda’s hand all the time and that didn’t mean anything. He was pretty sure, anyway.

“Where’d you go just now?” You asked, your hand his anchor in the moment, keeping him from drifting back off into the past again.

“Nowhere, I just…this is nice. Thanks for taking me out.”

“Thanks for coming with me.”

You went back into the theater, hand in hand, carrying your refills. This time, you’d gotten a slushee, and he had decided to do the same. You settled back into your seats, assuming your spots with the people you had been sitting near before. If anything, there were even more people in the theater for Catching Fire.

Steve took a sip of the slushee, looking over at you. “It’s cold.”

“Yeah, it’s ice.” You laughed. “Do you like it?”

He scrunched his face. “Ooh, brainfreeze.”

“You’ve gotta go slow.”

“Lesson learned.”

The lights dimmed and you grinned, looking back at the screen, missing the longing look in Steve’s eyes, admiring the way your face was lit by the glow. And in those seats, once again, he was that little guy from Brooklyn, watching a movie with his soulmate.

***

Two and a half hours later, the theater lights went up and you had forty-five minutes to kill until the next one started. You wandered down to the food court to get something to eat. 

“So what did he mean there’s no District 12?” Steve asked when you settled down at one of the tables. Shoppers walked all around, laden with paper bags full of goods. It was a kind of busy day, actually, but it was fine. You liked to peoplewatch.

“When the books came out, I had to wait a whole year to get the answer. I think you can handle the next forty minutes.”

“There are books?”

“I have them. You can borrow them. And they are even better than the movies, if you can believe that.”

“They must be pretty damn good, then.” He chuckled. “You want to shop around a bit? We’ve still got some time.”

“Oh absolutely. There’s a Lego store here.”

Steve grinned. “They have a whole store for those?”

The two of you finished eating, threw out your trash, and then walked down the hallway to the Lego Store. Steve browsed some of the boxes. There were a lot of cool things. Buildings he recognized, landmarks, things from movies he hadn’t gotten to watch yet. There were also flowers. Lots of flowers, and Van Gogh’s Starry Night. He could see himself building any number of them with you.

You were over by the minifigure bags, squishing them to feel which character was inside. Steve chuckled, but didn’t question your process. Instead, he wandered over to a rotating display of minifigure keychains. A few caught his eye, but more than anything, you did. That was, a keychain of you, in your suit, that eight-pointed star on your chest. Right next to it was him, shield and all. He chuckled and then grabbed one of each, heading towards the checkout.

By the time you caught up with him, he had already paid.

“What did you get?” you asked through your giggles.

“It’s a surprise.” He smiled, voice soft, eyes softer.

“Alright. Keep your secrets.” You chuckled.

Steve took your hand, walking back towards the theater. You got one last refill for the last two movies, got your cards punched, and headed back inside to finish off the saga.

***

At the end of the night, all the people who had been there for all four movies got a t-shirt, a Mockingjay pin, and a mini poster. Along with the tin and cups they’d given you, you’d say it was definitely worth the ticket price. You and Steve walked out to the car together and sat in the seats for a while before either of you spoke.

“Thanks for coming today, Steve.”

“Oh, any time, (Y/N). We should do it again sometime.”

“I’ll let you know if I catch wind of a Star Wars marathon.”

He grinned. “Oh please do. I’d love to see those on the big screen.”

He pulled out of the parking spot and drove off the lot. By the time you got back, almost everyone was asleep. Almost. Bucky was on the couch, watching something, volume on low. He looked up when the two of you came in the door.

“Fun time?” He asked.

“Oh, very.” You laughed kicking off your boots and setting them in your slot on the shoe shelf.

Steve plucked your keys off of your hook and, very efficiently, added his top secret Lego purchase to yours, the keychain of himself. 

“Oh my God.” You giggled, looking at it. “This is great.”

“We match.” He said, holding up his own keys, which already had the keychain of you on them.

Your heart just about melted. “We sure do. God, you’re giving my soulmate some awfully big shoes to fill, Steve.”

“Well,” he smiled, and suddenly, he was that little guy from Brooklyn again, at your height, in awe of the woman the universe had plopped directly onto his front porch. “I’m sure he’ll grow into them.”

Mr. Perfectly Fine

You had training early, almost all hands on deck. Tony was on a business trip, Thor was on Asgard. But otherwise, everyone was accounted for. Clint’s new recruit, Kate, seemed nice. She was twenty-three, fresh out of college, and really did have quite a shot. She might shape up to be a pretty good Hawkeye after all.

Scott and Hope were there as well. Hope was extremely skilled. You could tell she’d practiced for a while, knew her suit and the Pym Particles inside and out. And Scott was also there. He was nice, there was no question about that, but you could tell he still had a lot to learn about the crazy world he’d stepped into. Still, it was nice to have them around regardless.

Tony hadn’t officially inducted them to the team, and there had been no party announcing such a thing. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was waiting for someone. One more member, perhaps, before making it official.

You had been in…something of a mood since your little outing with Steve. It had been a blast, sure, but it had also been a reminder: Steve had a soulmate, in the past tense. There was a name on his wrist. And your bare wrist meant that it wasn’t you. You had a soulmate out there somewhere, human or super, whether you wanted them or not.

Steve was perfect for you. But you couldn’t have him.

And god, did it hurt.

You trained hard, hitting the punching bag that occupied what was usually Steve’s corner. He was there a lot, blowing off steam. Now you got it; it felt good to hit something. You spun, kicking the bag.

“You’re unbalanced.” Bucky piped up, walking over.

You looked up at him, watching his movements, but he didn’t mean any harm. Obviously he didn’t. He’d passed his mind-control test with flying colors. He was a free man now, and he was a lot lighter because of it.

“Am I?”

“You’ve gotta shift your weight a little, really plant that other leg.” He instructed, adjusting your body, hands gentle but firm. You could feel Steve’s eyes on you from across the room, but he didn’t come over. “Otherwise they’re gonna push you right over.”

“Well thanks. I appreciate it.” You said, giving the tip a try. “I haven’t done enough hand-to-hand.”

“We’ll get ya there. I’m surprised Steve hasn’t been working on it with you.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Things have been weird since the Hunger Games.”

“I noticed.” Bucky chuckled. “I’ll talk to him. See what’s going on in that head of his.”

“It’s not his fault. I’ve been the weird one.”

“Oh. Need to talk about it?”

“No, I just…I need to work through some stuff.”

Working through stuff meant that after training, you went straight to your room, closed the door, and started listening to your angst playlist, spread like a starfish across your king-sized mattress. And that was how Nat found you almost an hour later.

“Knock-knock, I’m coming in.” She said, opening the door. “Hey. Why are you listening to Songs for Sad Bitches in here?”

“What? How’d you—?”

“Your playlist name is on the screen out here when you play stuff on the built-in speakers.”

“Embarrassing.”

“Happens to the best of us.” She shrugged, closing the door behind her and sitting on the bed. “So, why are we sad bitches today?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“You can’t talk about it, or you can’t talk about it here?”

“The second of those options, yeah.”

She dangled your keys from her hand, the little tiny Captain America taunting you. “Thought so. Let’s get out of here. Kate hasn’t been to the mall yet and she needs to buy some more clothes.”

“Alright. I could go for some mall pretzels.”

So, for the second time in a week, you piled into a car and headed off towards the mall. This time, however, you were with your friends, Wanda, Nat, and Kate, not your unattainable work crush.

Wanda loved the mall. Seeing her that happy almost made your heartache go away. The four of you shopped around. You picked out a few new tops, some accessories, a cute bag, and it was a nice distraction until you passed the Lego Store. You got some pretzel bites and hunkered down in the food court with the others.

“Alright. Spill.” Nat urged.

Wanda offered a sad little smile and Kate looked up, waiting to see where this was heading. She was new to the team, which meant she was new to the drama, too.

“I don’t know, just…going out with Steve…”

“What, you don’t like him?” Nat asked, prodding.

“The opposite.”

“Then why are you all torn up about it?”

“Because I can’t have him.” You said, pushing a pretzel bite around in the cup of cheese. “He has a soulmate.”

“Had. In the forties.”

“Right, but…I turn twenty-five in what, like four months now? And then I get whoever and…I need to let him go before I get hurt, but I can’t.” You sighed. “Or before I hurt him, leading him on just to run off into the sunset with someone else…I just feel like shit about the whole situation.”

Natasha sat there with the perfect poker face, giving a sly little smile. “It’s gonna be fine. I promise. And if not, you’ve got us here to catch you.”

“What she said.” Kate agreed.

“It will be fine, (Y/N).” Wanda promised, patting your hand. “My birthday is first. Let me be the stressed one.” She let out an incredulous laugh. “I have a crush on an android.”

“Hey, if any robot has a soul, it’s gotta be Vision.” You said, eyes soft. “Obviously, he doesn’t have a mark, but, if your wrist has his name…”

“That would be enough for both of us.” Wanda agreed, nodding. “It’s weird. I know…I know he’s the one but I still have to wait. I wish if you figured it out early, the universe would just let you have it.”

Natasha looked to the rest of you, soaking in silence for a moment before taking off the cuff she wore around her wrist. “Alright, it’s been a secret long enough.”

“Woah, Nat…” You gave her a moment to back out, but she held up her wrist, letting the rest of you read the name on her wrist. Bucky. Her soulmate was Bucky. It…made a lot of sense, actually. The way he looked at her during training, the way she kept herself so guarded around him. “Does he know?”

“Unclear.” Natasha shrugged. “I, uh…Steve said he wasn’t sure. And Bucky’s memories are a little fuzzy. The Red Room tried to get rid of our marks. Said they made us liabilities. When I got out, they hadn’t found a way to do it yet. It showed up a few years after that.”

“Is that like…still around?” Kate asked. “The Red Room?”

“Unfortunately.”

The word sat on the table for a few long moments before you said, “What if we took it down?”

Something sparked in Natasha’s eyes and she met your gaze. “Elaborate.”

“I’m serious. The four of us,” you thought for a moment and then it clicked, “Hope.”

“Maria.” Natasha said, putting the pieces together herself. “I mean, that’s really all we’d need. Plus a location and a plan.”

“Oh my god, are we going on a mission?” Kate asked, lighting up at the prospect of her very first real mission.

Nat grinned. “Yeah, I think we are.”

I Can See You

Steve caught wind of Operation: Red Room before you’d so much as suited up. Of course he didn’t think it was a good idea. After your accident, he still saw you as fragile. You were fine. Your ribs were fine. They’d healed better than even Bruce had expected them to. Still, that look in his eyes said otherwise.

“I’m just not sure this is something you should be doing on your own.”

“We can’t bring you. We can’t bring Bucky. It’d be handing them two supersoldiers on a silver platter.”

“So you’re just gonna waltz in there instead?”

“Yep.” You replied, lighting a little forcefield around your fist and holding it up as evidence. “I can handle myself, remember?”

His eyes softened. “I know that.”

“Then why are you still fighting me on this? Do you seriously think Natasha would let anything happen to me? Do you think Wanda would?”

“What if they have something that disables your powers? Both of your powers.”

“If they did, they’d have used it already.”

He sighed, muscled arms crossed, pink lips pressed into a pout. “(Y/N)...”

“You’re not talking me out of this.” Not even with those pretty blues, you sneaky bastard. “Besides, it was my idea. I’m not leaving the girls hanging.”

His eyes widened. “It was your idea?”

“Well, it was a group effort, but I’m the one that put it into words, yeah.” You shrugged. “If you didn’t think I could handle being an Avenger, why did you recruit me?”

“I never said that.” His jaw clenched and he shook his head. “I just…I don’t know what I’d do with myself if something happened and I wasn’t there to stop it.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

“Then trust me to do this.” You told him, resting a hand on his chest. “And trust me to come back to you.”

He met your eyes, melting at your touch before relenting, “Okay. But be careful, alright? Promise me.”

“I promise. I always am. You guys should be here to hold down the fort anyway, in case they retaliate.”

He nodded. “Yeah, alright. I’ll be here.”

You walked down to the locker rooms and suited up, making sure everything was tugged tight, belt equipped with both real guns and stun guns. Natasha had told the rest of you there was brainwashing afoot with the Widows that were still in the Red Room. If you could help it, the goal was to get them out without hurting them. That was where Wanda came in. Her specialty.

You all loaded up into the jet, Maria Hill joining you as your getaway pilot. You hadn’t gotten the chance to work with her yet, so you were excited to. You rehashed the plan on the way. The Red Room was housed in a floating base, which was why it was so untraceable; it was always moving. 

You, Kate, and Wanda were on Widow duty. Wanda would dispel their brainwashing, and you and Kate would deal with the physical cells and deal with any guards standing in your way. Once the brainwashing was handled, Wanda would go with Nat to kill Dreykov himself, the man in charge who had escaped countless assassination attempts. This time, she wasn’t leaving anything to chance. Hope was going to shrink down and destroy the place from the inside, and once everyone was out and safe, Maria would fly you all to safety.

Ideally, anyway.

Steve saw you off, standing in the driveway as you flew off.

“Natasha wasn’t kidding. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.” Maria chuckled.

“You could say that.”

At the moment, the Red Room was hovering over a suburb in Maine, nearing the Canadian border. Any closer and it would become an international incident. It had to be now. Maria cloaked the jet as it approached, hiding it from onlookers, obviously, but also, hopefully, from the Red Room itself. Though, their sensors were very advanced so there was no way of knowing until you got closer. That put you on edge.

So, instead, you turned to Kate. “First mission today. You ready?”

“Oh hell yeah. I’ve been waiting for this.” Kate nodded. She slung her quiver over her shoulder. “What was yours?”

“The local county fair.” You chuckled. “Though, I guess if you count my first encounter with a bad guy, it was at the mall, guy with a flamethrower and a dream. He is in jail now.”

“That is typically what happens when you dream of arson.” Natasha said, grinning. “Thank you all. For this. For coming.”

“We’ve got you, Nat. They did some pretty awful shit to you. Time to make them pay for it.”

“Speaking of, ready up, ladies. We are two minutes out.”

Power crackled in your fingertips. You were ready to go. Well, as ready as you could be.

Maria pulled up to the docking bay and the five of you got out. Hope lowered her helmet visor, saluted, and then shrunk, flying off into the vents. The other four set off in a linear path, up the winding hallways towards where they kept the Widows.

The hall was bathed in red light, dim. It set you on edge. Natasha led the way, motioning the rest of you on. You noticed as you approached each camera, it flicked off, the heads of them tilting down.

Oh right, Hope. Awesome.

You approached a series of rooms, doors all identical. They slid open when you approached, and sure enough, two dozen women came charging at you all at once, dressed in identical athleisure. Wanda waved her hands, red mist cascading down the hall, their eyes filling. It took a moment, but they all stopped, looking around at each other for some idea of what was going on.

“Natasha?” One of the voices in the crowd said, a blonde girl with wide eyes. “You came?”

Natasha nodded, smiling. “Of course I did.”

“You’re the Avengers.” The girl said, looking at the rest of you. “You’re really here.”

“Some of us. Come on, we’ve got a ship waiting.” You told her.

The girl looked at you and then back at Natasha.

“Go with her.” Natasha instructed. “I’ll be back in like five minutes. Tops.”

“What’s your name?” Kate asked, starting to lead the others back to the ship.

“I’m Yelena. Natasha’s sister.”

As you led them back down the hall, armored guards rounded the corner. You made forcefields at their feet, tripping them up. Kate shot arrows down the barrels of their weapons, causing a few small explosions. The Widows fought with you, taking out anyone that approached. Soon enough, you got to the docking bay, which exploded as soon as you approached.

You put up a shield between the rest of you and the explosion, blocking the girls from the flying debris. Okay, that put a wrench in things a little bit.

“What are we gonna do?” Kate asked, looking to you, the reflection of the flames shimmering against her skin.

“I’ve got an idea.” You said, approaching the opening carefully, wind whipping all around. Maria was still piloting the jet, doing her best to get close to the massive hole.

You made a platform with your power, curving it up at the edges, like a giant spoon. Slowly, you slid it across the gap to the jet. Maria got the hint, turning it around and opening the ramp. You made another platform and two of the Widows hopped in without hesitation. Slowly, you started the process of feeding them all across, two by two until everyone was in the jet. Everyone except you.

“Hey.” Hope said, landing and returning to full size, out of breath. “What did I miss?”

“Not too much.”

“Want a lift?”

“Why not?” You shrugged. Hope took your hand, flying you across the gap and into the ship. That just left Wanda and Nat unaccounted for.

You watched anxiously, waiting, waiting, waiting. Nothing.

“Hope, how long before this thing blows?”

“A few minutes.”

“Fuck.” You shook your head. You pressed a finger to your earpiece. “Nat, Wanda, do you copy?”

Radio silence.

“(Y/N), there they are.” Kate pointed. She really did have eagle eyes.

“I’ll get them.” Hope offered until an enemy ship opened fire.

“I’ve got it.” You said, channeling something deeper. Instead of making a bubble, you formed a tunnel of shimmering blue energy from the platform they were standing on to the back of the jet. “Hold her steady, Maria!”

“As steady as I can.”

A few explosions started at the back of the base, setting off a chain reaction. The two of them ran through the tunnel, its energy shielding them from the fire, the debris, and the rain of bullets. Wanda sped them along, until they were safe and sound, in the jet again.

Maria closed up the door as more explosions went off. You lowered your hands, letting the energy dispel. She flew off to a safe distance. The rest of you watched in awe as the Red Room fell, crumbling to bits, to ashes and ruin.

Yelena hugged Natasha, thanking her. Natasha apologized for not coming sooner. And the rest of the Widows were able to rest, breathing free for the first time in years.

***

The first stop on the docket was a SHIELD base in New York to drop off the majority of the Widows. SHIELD had a plan in place to get them back into society, integrated, rehabilitated, whatever they needed.

The second stop, of course, was Taco Bell, for refreshments.

The third stop was home, where Steve was waiting at the dinner table, chin resting against his folded hands, Bucky sitting across from him. He whipped around at the sound of the door opening. You, Kate, Wanda, Natasha, Hope, and Yelena were talking and laughing, laden with bags of fast food.

His eyes fell on yours first and it was like time stopped.

“How did it go?”

“Good. I got you a Baja Blast.” You said, setting the large cup of the teal drink in front of him.

He stared at it for a long moment before looking back up at you. “You…”

“I’m alright, Steve. We all are. And, uh, we have a new teammate.”

He finally spotted Yelena in the mix. “Oh?”

“Natasha has a sister.” You shrugged, sitting down and unpacking your order. “Apparently.”

Speaking of whom, Natasha walked up to Bucky, looked him in the eye, and said, “Barnes. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah, of course.” He nodded, following her into another room.

“Wonder what that’s about.” Steve murmured, sticking a straw into the drink he kept staring at like it was a potion you’d plucked from a fantasy realm. You supposed teal was kind of an odd color for a drink…

You smirked. “I have some idea.”

“She told you?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “It makes a lot of sense. The way he looks at her…”

He nodded. “Like something out of a movie.”

“Yeah, exactly.” You sighed and then shook out of it, motioning to the drink. “Alright, let me know what you think.”

He took a first sip, holding it in his mouth for a second before swallowing. The smile on his face grew. “It’s sweet.”

“Too sweet?”

“A little.” He chuckled, going in for another sip. “No, maybe…maybe I do like it.”

“Uh-huh. Think about it.” You laughed.

Yelena sat down next to you. “Is this seat taken? I’m starving.”

“Have at it.”

“Alright, well, you girls have fun. I’m headed to bed.” He held up his cup. “Thanks for the drink. Glad you’re home safe.”

“Night, Steve.”

Yelena looked at you, wonder in her eyes. As soon as he was out of earshot, she said, “Oooh, tell me everything.”

You chuckled. “Where do I even start?”

Champagne Problems

Two weeks later, you got dressed for Wanda’s twenty-fifth birthday outing. It would be just the girls, headed to a club nearby. Wanda would turn twenty-five just after midnight and she didn’t want to be in the same building with Vision if she was going to get her heart broken. It wasn’t a bad plan, all things considered.

You were wearing a black dress, knee-length, form-fitting, paired with a dark red lip, and of course, the star necklace Steve had gotten for you all those months ago. You let your fingers linger on it in your reflection before throwing on your heels and walking out to the living room to wait for the others.

Steve was on the couch, watching the Muppets Movie.

“See? I wasn’t lying about Gonzo.”

“You weren’t.” He laughed.  He opened his mouth to make a quip, but it died on his tongue when he got a good look at you, eyes softening. “You got a date tonight? You’re all dolled up.”

“Huh? No.” You laughed. “It’s girls’ night.”

“Didn’t you just have girls’ night? I believe it involved several explosives.”

“Right, well, Wanda turns twenty-five just after midnight, so we’re going out again. This time hopefully with less explosions.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, ya look great.”

You blushed. “Thanks.”

“You hear about Nat and Buck?”

“It’s official.” You grinned. “I’m happy for them.”

“Me too. They’ve both been through so much. They deserve to be happy.”

“So do you, Steve.”

He tilted his head, giving you that sad smile. “I am. Promise.”

The other girls came into the living room before you had the chance to respond. Nat was hand-in-hand with Bucky, who kissed her on the cheek before releasing her and joining Steve on the couch, grinning like he’d won the lottery. In a way, he had.

“Let’s get a move on, birthday girl.” Natasha said, slinging an arm around Wanda’s shoulders. “The night is young.”

She looked back longingly where Vision was hovering in the corner of the room. “Be back soon.”

“Text me when you find out.” He said.

“I will.” She promised, eyes brimming with tears.

You took her hand in yours, giving it a comforting squeeze. She squeezed it back, meeting your eyes and offering a smile.

The five of you piled into the car. Hope wasn’t coming because she was in San Francisco for the weekend, but Yelena was. She seemed determined to experience all the life she’d missed out on thus far. You couldn’t blame her in the slightest.

The club was lively, music pulsing loudly. There were lots of birthdays being celebrated, it turned out, announced by party hats, birthday crowns and sashes, and the periodic cheers of groups of people, yelling out in excitement when their friends learned who their lives were promised to. It was kind of magical.

You ordered a drink, downing it quickly and surrendering to the fuzzy feeling at the edges of your mind. You were pretty sure the last time you’d been drunk was your induction to the team. You remembered that night with Steve, how he looked at you, how it felt. And then you ordered a second drink, dancing to the music with the girls, trying to forget your worries, even if only for the night.

A guy approached you, a look in his eye. He eyed up your bare wrist. “No soulmate?”

“Not yet. A few months too early for that.”

“Then would you mind if I swept you off your feet for the night?”

“Sorry, I…I’m here for my friend. It’s her twenty-fifth.”

He scoffed, looking you up and down before stalking off towards his next victim. “Alright. Your loss.”

“Asshole.” Yelena rolled her eyes, taking your hands and spinning you around on the dance floor. You let her, dancing along. “I do not blame you, (Y/N). If I were you, I wouldn’t settle either. Not for that.”

You laughed. “Yeah, not my thing.”

“You’ve never…?”

“Well, a little. In high school, we used to have parties where we ‘practiced’ for our soulmates. It never got any further than a little spin the bottle, though.” You confessed.

“Ah, see, I’ve had practice. But it never meant anything. Red Room, bleh.” Yelena shrugged. “I am ready for something real.”

“How long you got left?”

“Another year.”

“I’ve got three and a half months.”

“So I’ve heard. I bet you are excited, being so close to it.”

“Excited, nervous.” You laughed, shrugging. “I kinda just want to rip the Band-Aid off, get it over with.”

“I’m sure.” She motioned Kate over and she joined the two of you, dancing to the beat. “Kate Bishop, how long do you have left?”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“Ah, well, then you have lots of time to party.” Yelena grinned, spinning her around. “We should really do this more often.”

You chuckled. Yelena had only been part of your little family for a few weeks, but already you could tell she was going to be a handful in the best way.

Eventually, you wandered back over to Wanda, who was standing in the corner of the room, nursing a single glass of Vodka Cran.

“Hey, birthday girl. You doing okay?” You asked.

She nodded, irises ringed with red, as they often were when she was stressed. She blinked a few times, forcing them back to hazel. “Doing great.”

“Wanda, whoever they are, they’re so lucky to have someone like you.” You took her hand. “Now let’s go dance and forget about it for the next hour.”

She smiled. “Lead the way.”

***

In what seemed like no time at all, midnight came. Natasha ordered a bottle of champagne and each of you got a glass. Wanda sat on a barstool, staring at her wrist. From right next to her, you had a pretty good view, watching with a racing heart as a string of letters appeared, darkening into existence.

The Vision.

She burst into tears, hitting the call button on her phone. He picked up on the first ring.

“It’s you, Vis! I knew it was you!”

The rest of you gathered your things, eager to reunite them as soon as you could. Your thoughts were racing, though. You’d never really thought of it before, but…your soulmate could be someone you already knew. Someone you were already in love with.

Someone who was already in love with you.

Maybe there was some hope after all…

The Origin

Only weeks after your night in the club, you found yourself in yet another bar. This time, it wasn’t for fun, though. You, Sam, Nat, Bucky, and Steve were undercover in a quaint little tavern in Alaska. A quaint little tavern that happened to be a front for Hydra, as it were. But that didn’t mean that everyone there was Hydra, just definitely the bar tender and the security guards that kept eyeing you up. Probably a handful of the patrons, too.

In addition to that, so were the flannel-clad guys at the bar.

“Hey, little lady.” One wandered up to you, bumping your elbows. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I’m all set with this one, thanks.” You said, taking a long sip from your drink.

“Aww, come on, just one more?” The guy on your other side egged on. “Pretty girl like you deserves to have a little fun.”

The guys around them started getting riled up, trying to convince you to have another drink. Never had you been so glad to hear Steve’s voice.

“Sorry fellas, she’s taken. Come on, sweetheart.” You felt his hand on your shoulder and let him pull you away from the fray, back to his little corner. He had been growing out a bit of a beard for this. God, did it suit him. He rested his hands on your waist, face approaching your own, nose nestled beside your cheek. “You see anything?”

“Bartender has a gun under the counter. Intense code-protected lock on the door in the backroom.” You told him, masking your words with a smile, nuzzling your nose against his.

“I’ll get to work on the door.” Bucky said over the coms. “Whatever you’re doing is working. Those guys have lost all interest.”

“Perfect.” You chuckled. “Thanks for defending my honor.”

Steve smiled and it was breathtaking, the way his eyes sparkled in the warm light. “Anytime.”

You really couldn’t help yourself. You couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol; there hadn’t even been any. It was a virgin drink. Your arm wound around his neck, pulling him in so you could kiss his cheek. His arms wrapped tight around you and he buried his face in your neck to hide his rosy cheeks, laughing.

Once again, that line between your cover and your feelings began to blur.

“Alright, I’m in.” Bucky said. “Feel free to join us whenever.”

“Coming.” Steve murmured, a hand moving the hair out of your eyes. He pressed a long kiss to your forehead, sending your heart into a frenzy before taking your hand and leading you to the backroom, where Bucky and the others were waiting.

“You were born for undercover work, (Y/N).” Natasha said, giving you a smirk and a friendly nudge.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.” You laughed. “It’s kind of fun, though.”

The five of you walked down the tunnel. When you finally reached the main room, it was kind of dark. You lit your fist with blue energy, using it to find a lightswitch. There were several computers that flashed to life, a wall of weapons, and also, a wall of screens. There was a little electrified cell, but it was empty. No captives, as far as you could see.

You started looking around while Natasha backed up files to a hard drive. Bucky watched the entrances. Sam looked over the weapons, taking notes of the ones that were out of the ordinary. Steve stared at the screens, mesmerized by…something.

“Um, (Y/N)?” He asked, motioning you over.

You looked up at the images. They were all of you. Pictures of you in the field, diagrams of your anatomy, hospital records, your birth certificate. There were illustrations of you, and a few fields marked as unfulfilled: blood sample, soulmate information, DNA.

Beneath it was written Planet of Origin: Illustria

“What the actual fuck.” You said, voice flat, staring at the word. You’d never heard it before. Not even with the recent discoveries about space and the wider universe. Thor, your only connection to space, had never mentioned it. Yet, for some reason, Hydra had reason to believe you were connected to it.

“Company.” Bucky announced, readying his gun as a group of Hydra agents stormed down the tunnel. 

A section of the wall slid open and a scientist-looking man stepped into the space. Steve threw his shield, bouncing it off of three surfaces before it came back to him. The man made a run for it, but you lit your fists and ran after him. Steve followed after.

Once you were both through, the wall slid shut. On the other side, you could still hear the sounds of the fight. They needed you. But you needed answers. It was an impossible choice, made easier when he started talking.

“Ah, the Girl from Space and the Man Out of Time. How nice to have you both here in one place.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You said, fists clenched, eyes glazed over with raw power, glowing like Wanda’s did.

He laughed. “You didn’t know? Your commerades didn’t tell you? Surely they must have seen the suppressor in your neck when they were running all those tests.”

Your world came crashing down. “The what?”

“Your parents paid us to put it there. Paid SHIELD, at least, but, we’ve been one in the same for a long time. Didn’t know how to handle their little alien girl, especially at her full power, on a planet that wasn’t their own. They should have known you’d outgrow it eventually.” He tsked. “Of course, I could always take it out for you.”

“You touch her, you die.” Steve said, voice as smooth as steel. It sent a chill down your spine. “I’m warning you.”

It made sense. It was like a switch had been flipped when you were in college, your powers coming from seemingly nowhere. They’d been suppressed all your life, but finally, the suppressor stopped working. You hadn’t even known it was there. Maybe that was why you’d been stopped at so many airports.

“Not to worry Captain, I was on my way out of here anyway.” He raised his hands and started walking towards an exit tunnel.

You raised yours, making a cuff of energy around his wrist, holding him in place.

“No, you get to answer to SHIELD.” You told him. “And then you get to answer to me.”

Steve used his shield to knock the guy out with one quick, precise throw. The door behind the two of you slid open, Natasha pushing it open. There were downed Hydra agents all over the floor behind her.

“Having a party without us?”

“Something like that.” You mumbled, heart still racing.

“I got the files, (Y/N).” She said, playful demeanor falling immediately. “We’ll figure it out.”

Steve lugged the scientist over his shoulders, handing him off to the SHIELD agents who had come to help, one of whom happened to be one of the guys who was hitting on you at the bar. Go figure. Bucky and Sam joined the three of you. Sam put a hand on your shoulder and offered a supportive smile.

You still felt numb.

***

You got back to the safehouse and the snow outside doubled, coming down in droves, thick snowflakes and heavy winds. It was safe to say you would not be making it back to the Compound tonight.

You changed out of your bulletproof gear and into a tank top and sweats, running a hand through your hair. You met your eyes in the reflection, noticing how they flickered blue. In the other room, you could hear the video call finally go through with Tony and Bruce, who were back home.

“Oh don’t give me that look, Rogers.”

“Well, can you blame me?”

“What, like you’ve never kept a secret ever in your life, give me a break!”

“About her life, Tony!”

“I’ll get her.” You heard Natasha tell him, and then heard her footsteps approaching the bathroom door. She knocked. “Hey, they’re on. I made you some cocoa.”

You opened the door, letting out a sigh and nodding. “Thanks, Nat.”

She smiled, patting your shoulder and leading you out to the couch. Tony and Bruce were sitting in the living room on the screen. Steve had been pacing, obviously, given his stance and the fact that he was still standing.

You sat down, making eye contact with each of them, lips pressed into a flat line. Your heart raced, chest aching, stomach on fire from the adrenaline of it all. “So?”

Tony sighed. “You’re an alien.”

“Half.” Bruce amended. “On your mother’s side. She’s from a planet called Illustria.”

“Uh-huh, yeah. I got that part. How long have you known?”

Bruce looked at Tony, hoping he’d deliver that part of the news. He did. “I’ve known since you were recruited. Fury did a background check. You were already on the files.”

“What about the suppressor?”

“We didn’t know what it was. We didn’t know what taking it out would do to you.” Bruce admitted. “We thought you knew it was there.”

“I want it out.” You said with certainty. “I want it out as soon as we get home.”

“Are you sure?” Bruce asked.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life. I want to know who I am. That starts with knowing what I’m actually capable of.” You sighed. “And call Thor. I have questions I need answered. His alien friends might know.”

“Anything else?” Tony asked.

“Who else knew.” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

“Just me and Fury,” he said, but you couldn’t tell if he was lying or not.

“And Hydra.” You snapped. “What, are you afraid of me? Had to keep a lid on my powers because you’re so fucking obsessed with control?”

Tony scoffed. Clearly, you’d struck a nerve. “That’s not it.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how you would take it.”

“Okay well, I think I would have been okay hearing it from a friend, in a place I felt safe. I had to hear about it from Hydra. They had a fucking cell with my name on it.” You said, trembling as you remembered it, tucked away in the corner there. That was the only explanation for it, really. And then something else clicked, too. “That…that day when Steve got tranq’ed. They weren’t trying to hit him, they were trying to hit me. He jumped in the way. They’ve…been trying to take me this entire time.”

“Oh my god, Tony…” Natasha said, voice quiet.

“Get those files to me, Nat. I’ll take a look. See if they have anything on the suppressor so I can take it out when you get back.” Bruce said, eyes soft. “And I’m sorry, for the record.”

“It’s not you I’m mad at.”

“Kid, please don’t—”

You cut Tony off with a click of the remote, hanging up the call. You let out a shaking sigh, setting the remote down. Your fingers were trembling. You took a few breaths, lungs heaving. You wanted to scream. You needed to let it out.

Everyone else on the team knew why they were there. Every other person in your life knew what made them special. Wanda’s power came from the Mind Stone, Steve’s came from the Serum, Tony’s came from his massive fucking ego. They all got the privilege of their origin story.

All of them except for you.

You needed to call your parents, if you even could. They’d told you they were moving to Florida. Now you wondered if they’d moved off the planet.

“You gonna be okay?” Sam asked, eyes trailing you as you paced through the room towards the door.

“Nope.” You walked out to the other den, burying your face in your arms, sobbing for a few minutes until you got it all out, or most of it anyway. Eight months. Eight fucking months he’d known you and didn’t think to tell you.

The chip in your shoulder burned.

You began to seriously wonder if anyone else had known. Bruce had run all those tests, surely he had seen something. He’d told you there were abnormalities, but he’d assumed they were from your powers, not the cause of them.

Steve crossed your mind briefly, but you shot that down pretty quick. He, of all people, would never keep a secret like that from you. You knew him well enough to know that.

Aside from that, the only real suspect you had was Vision. He had been JARVIS once, surely he still had some of that database in his mind. You’d give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

“Hey.” Even before you looked up, you could tell Steve would be leaning in the doorway, that lovelorn look on his face. You were right, obviously.

Tears welled in your eyes. “Steve.”

He crossed the room, collecting you in his arms, hands rubbing comforting circles on your back. You surrendered to him, crying into the fabric of his crewneck, face tucked into the crook of his neck. One of his hands cradled your head, smoothing over your hair comfortingly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He rumbled, voice deep and soothing. “I would have told you.”

“I know you would.” You sniffled, gripping him like a lifeline, your anchor in the storm. You pulled away to meet his eyes. “I feel so stupid for crying about it.”

He shook his head. “It’s not stupid. I would, too.”

“Like it’s fine. Aliens are cool. T-Thor is cool.” You sniffled again, more tears running down your cheeks. “I’m fine with being one, I just…”

“You’re still (Y/N).” He asserted, a gentle thumb wiping your tears away. “You’ve always been able to do these amazing, beautiful things. Now we know why. And maybe there’ll be even more things you can do with that thing out of your neck.”

“Yeah…” You nodded. You took a deep breath. “I’m really glad you’re here, Steve. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t.”

He pulled you back into his arms to hide the look on his face. “I’ve got you. Always. We’ll figure it out.”

***

Hours later, you were curled up on the couch, asleep. Despite the fireplace raging with fresh-chopped wood, you were still shivering, pulling the blankets around yourself as tight as you could.

Steve watched you from the dining table, forlorn. Natasha nudged him, motioning towards you. He shook his head. He couldn’t. Right? What, take advantage of you in your vulnerable state?

Bucky seemed to agree with Nat, grinning into his mug of coffee. Of course they agreed. They were soulmates, after all. Just like you and Steve. 

The mark on his wrist seemed to thrum when he thought about it.

Relenting, Steve got up off of his seat, walked towards the fireplace and adjusted the logs, adding another small one for good measure. He looked back at the others, who were silently, but aggressively, encouraging him to go over to you. Sighing, he did.

He knelt down in front of you, clearing his throat, which caused you to jolt awake.

“Is everything okay? Are we under attack?”

Steve chuckled. “No, uh, we’re all good. Are you cold? You’re shivering.”

“Kind of, yeah.” You admitted. “I’ll be okay, though, I promise. I’ve always been kind of cold. Must be an alien thing…”

“Do you…want some company?” He asked, unsure of how to word it. “I…run warm.”

“Do you mind?” You asked, sitting up a little and raising the blankets you were under.

His heart raced. “Here, um…” He wiggled in underneath you, letting you lead as the two of you settled.

“God, you do run warm.” You hummed, all but collapsing against him, a hand flat against his chest while you adjusted.

“I didn’t always.” He said, voice sincere. “Buck and I used to have to share a bed in the winter. It was brutal.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Yeah, he snores.” Steve joked, earning a laugh.

“Oh I know. I can hear him three doors down back home.”

“And I can hear you from the other room!” Bucky called, sending you and Steve into a fit of giggles, like kids at a sleepover. “It’s a small cabin!”

You heard him and Sam devolve into a bickering match about the truth of whether or not Bucky actually snored that loud.

You looked up at Steve, asking “is it okay if I put my arm here?” while carefully draping an arm across him.

“Yeah, of course. Get comfortable.” He nodded, leaning against the pillows and pulling the blanket up around your shoulders.

You rested your head on his firm chest, listening to the way his heart was racing. Cute.

“We could, uh, put on some music if you want.” Steve suggested. “I’ve still got that playlist on my phone.”

“Which one’s your favorite?” You asked, voice soft, curious.

“Timeless.”

“I thought it would be.” You smiled, meeting his eyes, which sparkled in the light of the fire. “You’re so timeless, Steve Rogers.”

He grinned. “You think so? You don’t think I’m a fossil like everyone else?” he said, quoting Natasha and Tony and many others who equated him to some dinosaur because of his accident.

“Not even close.” You shook your head and sighed. “This might be the wrong thing to say, but…I’m really glad you’re here. Your life could have looked a lot different, but I’m really glad you ended up in mine.”

It took every ounce of his being to hold in his tears when you said it. If he could have confessed then and there, he would have. He would have kissed you square on the lips, told you he loved you, that he always had, that you weren’t some accident, you were his destiny. Always had been.

Instead, he had to settle for, “I’m getting used to it, but I am, too. I’m really glad I found you that day, (Y/N).”

“Me too.” You smiled, readjusting your cheek against his chest, letting out a long breath. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night.”

His warmth lulled you to sleep after a long, emotional day. Never had you felt so safe and protected. It was easy to feel that way in the arms of a supersoldier, you supposed, thoughts meandering until there weren’t any left. You were asleep in minutes, breaths slow and long and even.

Once he was absolutely sure you were out, Steve pressed the gentlest kiss to your forehead, grateful beyond words to have you in his arms again, grateful you were safe, grateful you were his.

Even if you didn’t know it yet.

***

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the sliver of a gap in the curtains, right into your eyes. You blinked a few times, trying to figure out why the mattress was moving. And then you remembered. Steve.

The supersoldier was still asleep, breaths long and slow, those thick, gorgeous eyelashes resting against his sharp cheekbones, lips impossibly pink. His muscled arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other settled on the couch.

Your eyes wandered to the band on his wrist. It was out of place slightly, the edge almost crooked enough to read the letters etched onto his skin. Almost.

There was a part of you that was tempted to look. To nudge it aside the tiniest bit, say it was an accident, and finally know who it was that had been holding his heart in their hands for the last seventy or so years.

But you couldn’t do that to him. He trusted you enough to hold you while he slept, while he was the most vulnerable. You respected him too much to do that. So instead, you adjusted slightly, closing your eyes again.

“(Y/N).” Natasha said from the doorway of the kitchen.

“Hmm?” You replied, eyes opening again.

She eyed up the two of you, grinning. “Cute.”

You chuckled. “Thanks.”

“Got those files sent to Bruce. He doesn’t think it’ll be a problem getting that thing out of you. Won’t even have to put you under.”

“Cool.” You nodded. “Is it…like right between my neck and my shoulder? On the right side?”

“That’s where it is on the diagrams, yeah.”

“Okay. Thought so. I get pain there sometimes.”

“During training?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think it was anything serious. Thought it was like a pulled muscle or a pinched nerve or something.”

“You never said anything.” Steve murmured, blinking awake. “You were in pain that whole time?”

“No. It comes and goes. Mostly when I try out new stuff.” You said, still planted on his chest, looking up at him.

He smiled. “Morning.”

“Morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Really well, actually. How did you sleep?”

“Like a fucking rock.” You grinned. “You weren’t kidding about running warm. Thanks for sharing.”

“Anytime.”

“Let’s get a move on, team.” Sam said, walking out from the bedrooms down the hall, Bucky not far behind him, looking tired.

You reluctantly left the warmth of your shared cocoon, sitting up and stretching, brushing your fingers through your tangled hair. “Alright, let’s go get this thing out of me.”

Show Yourself

“Alright, so, this might hurt a bit. Are you ready?” Bruce warned. You were laid out on a table on your stomach, a curled pillow beneath your head. It was a bit like a massage, except Bruce had made an incision at the base of your neck where your suppressor was implanted. He’d given you some numbing gel and pain meds, though, so you didn’t feel much.

On the other side of the observation window, Steve was standing with Natasha, his arms crossed, eyes focused. Tony wasn’t allowed even in there, which pissed him off. He’d tried to get on your good side when you’d gotten home and you blew him off completely, which, Steve had to admit, was amusing.

And Tony definitely deserved it.

“I’m good. Go for it.”

Carefully, Bruce used his tools to wiggle it free from your flesh, setting off a chain reaction in your body. The wave of relief you felt was almost enough to put you to sleep, a refreshing, cool sensation rushing from your head to your toes. Power crackled between your fingers, and you could feel your eyes glowing for a moment, despite the fact that you couldn’t see your reflection.

Bruce moved to stitch you up, but your body did the work for him, mending back together on its own before his very eyes. He adjusted his glasses, sure he was seeing things. But no, the wound was healed, just leaving a little dried blood on your skin, which he wiped off with a wet piece of gauze.

“Woahhh.” You murmured, coming out of the trance. You blinked a few times and it felt like waking up from a college nap, the kind you don’t set an alarm for and then come out of in a stupor.

“You feel okay?”

“Yeah, I’m great.” You nodded. “Are you done? Did you stitch it up?”

“I…didn’t have to.” He murmured, still staring at the spot. He handed you the shirt you’d brought in and you tugged it over your head, staring at your arms, your hands. You didn’t look any different, but it was like every atom in your body was electrified.

It felt right.

Bruce opened the door and Steve and Natasha walked in, watching your every move.

“Wow.” Natasha said, grinning. “You look…”

“The same, but…more you.” Steve met your eyes, offering you his hand. 

You took it, letting him help you stand. Even his touch felt different now. Better. You settled, adjusting. It felt different, like even the gravity itself had changed. It would take some getting used to.

“I need to hit the training room.” You said with an excited grin. “You two are welcome to join me.”

“Can I watch? I want to take notes.” Bruce said. “From the observation booth, of course.”

“Oh yeah, by all means.” You nodded, leading the others down the hallway. A few others tagged along, Yelena, Kate, Wanda, who were all curious to see what you were capable of now, and just how much Tony’s lies had been holding you back. Sam and Bucky were already there and smiled when they saw you coming, Steve and the others in tow.

They cleared out some room, letting you have the space you needed. You stretched and then got to work.

First, you made a few forcefields. They still had that shimmer, like sunlight in a swimming pool, but they were twice as thick as they had been before. Steve couldn’t break them with his super-strength anymore.

You had more control over your waypoints and your portals, which, the more you used them, were becoming two different things. The waypoints, your stars, were a quick zip from point A to point B. Your portals, however, were more like a window that you could open and close, and took on more of a circular shape.

You were stronger, too. Nowhere near as strong as Bucky or Steve, but twice as strong as you’d been before, faster.

And then came the other thing. If you focused hard enough, and focused on the floaty, tingly feeling in your chest, your body started to glow around the edges, and at long last, your feet rose from the floor.

“Oh my god…” You murmured, lifting yourself from the tile ground. At first, it was hard to control, but you quickly figured out how to get from point to point, and how to hover in the middle.

Steve stared up at you as you hovered, fists lit with power, hair floating in the breeze you’d created. It was like watching the birth of a star, powerful and beautiful and otherworldly.

For the first time since 1943, he knew in his soul that he had to paint you, exactly like this. He memorized the moment in his mind, every detail from the streak of sunlight on your chest to the misplaced strand of hair on your forehead, the exact hue of your glowing irises.

“A picture might last longer.” Natasha teased under her breath, watching as you touched down.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” Steve replied, already picking out a color palette in his head.

“Holy shit…” You breathed, the glow dissipating as you returned to normal. “What a rush.”

“Welcome to the fly club, kid.” Sam said, patting you on the back.

“Thanks.” You grinned. “You’ll have to give me some pointers sometime.”

“Oh, anytime.” Sam walked over to Steve with you. “You see her up there? She’s like Superman.”

“I saw.” Steve agreed, arms crossed. “I think this calls for celebration, huh?”

“What did you have in mind, Cap?” You asked.

“Baja Blast?” He suggested, earning a laugh and a friendly shove.

“So you did like it?”

“It’s growin’ on me.” Steve admitted, that sly smile spreading. “Come on, my treat.”

“Oh I’m in.” You agreed. “Let me just take these monitors off.”

You turned in Bruce’s software, all of the vital-measuring instruments, cuffs and little sensors hooked to your arms and legs and chest.

“So, give it to me straight, doc. Am I stable?”

“Yeah, everything looks great. Vitals are great, heartrate is fine, if not a little elevated, but I’d assume that’s just from the adrenaline.” Bruce noted, looking at the numbers and charts on the screen in front of him. “If you feel weird, let me know and I can check things over, do some scans, but otherwise, it seems…you’re doing better than you were before, actually.”

“Alright, good to know.” You said, trying not to let his words hurt you. 

It was good news, it really was, but you could have felt this way for eight months, not two hours. You were thinking faster, processing things at better speeds. Hell, it even felt like you were breathing easier. Whatever that thing was that had been inside you, it had been sapping your health for your entire life. And now, you finally knew what it was like to be at a hundred percent instead of eighty.

Fuck Tony.

***

Steve drove the two of you through the nearest Taco Bell drive-thru to get snacks for yourselves and the rest of the team.

You ordered your regular, your Baja Blast, and everything the others had requested, running it on one of the team cards Tony had given you all. On the drive back, Steve had a question you didn’t really expect.

“Where do people shop for art supplies these days?”

“Jo Ann’s or Michael’s. They have a little bit of everything. Fabric, yarn, paint, beads, basically everything you could need. Why, you got a DIY project planned?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He grinned. “I don’t do much shopping, so I didn’t know where to start.”

“We should go sometime. I was running low on yarn.” You said, taking a sip of your Baja Blast.

“Make anything cool lately?”

“I’m working on a sunflower cardigan for Wanda.”

“Oh she’ll love that.”

“Yeah, she’s the one who sent me the pattern.” You chuckled. “It’s gonna look really cute on her.”

The two of you got back a few minutes later, a drove of hungry superheroes descending upon the paper bags you were carrying almost instantly. It was a welcome sight, a full table of laughing people. Your family. You felt a little different now, but nothing had changed. Not really. They still liked you, still smiled at you, joked with you, laughed with you.

So then why had Tony felt the need to hide it for so long?

***

Days later, Steve walked down the paint aisle of the craft store, picking out some brushes, some canvas, paints. He found the perfect one for your eyes, another hue for your forcefields. The amount of time he spent looking at you made it easy.

He smiled to himself. The little guy from Brooklyn would be proud of him, getting back into art beyond the sketches he did from time to time. It reminded him, though, that he needed to swing back to that antique shop and finally pick up the painting that had been waiting for him for so long.

Surely, he could keep it hidden until your big day.

Happiest Place on Earth

Being an Avenger often brought along unexpected adventures and opportunities. Today, that adventure was a theme park. Apparently, Disneyland was putting in a whole section in homage to the Avengers and Tony wanted you all to be there.

And though the two of you weren’t on the best terms at the moment, who were you to fight a free vacation?

You and Wanda helped pick out each others’ outfits for your day off following the grand opening. But today, you were wandering the park in uniform, side by side with Captain America himself, as you walked side by side down the street in the parade.

They’d tried to teach you all to do a little dance as you walked. The only one even attempting it was Scott, who was absolutely thrilled to be there. Supposedly, his daughter Cassie would be there to see him, too. You hadn’t met her yet, but Scott loved her to the moon and back. With him as a dad, she’d have to turn out pretty cool.

“Waypoint,” Steve said, motioning you over to see a little girl dressed not as a princess, but as you, your star shining proudly on her chest.

“Hey there, superstar.” You smiled, giving her a high-five. “You look great!”

“I want to be a hero just like you someday!” She said, her voice impossibly small. Impossibly innocent. It was a cute moment, but you couldn’t help but hope she’d never have to be. That someday, you and the rest of the team would get the world to a place where superheroes weren’t needed, where there was just peace. Where people with powers could simply be like everyone else.

“You already are, hon.” You told her, posing for a picture as her mom held up her phone.

You continued along the parade route and saw a couple. The guy was wearing a Captain America hoodie, the girl was wearing a Waypoint shirt. You wondered if Steve noticed, but didn’t have to ask when you saw his eyes lingering there, his mask all but hiding the faint blush on his cheeks.

A few teenage girls stopped you and you signed their autograph books, throwing something together. Despite your time on the team, there had never really been a time you’d been stopped for them. It was an odd feeling, being famous for something like this.

Steve signed with confidence, though. Sometimes you forgot that before he actually got to go out in the field and make a difference, he’d done a stint as a celebrity, touring the country to sell war bonds.

Someday, you’d bribe him enough to show you the videos, if he hadn’t already burnt all of them first.

“Are you excited for your birthday?” One asked. “I heard your twenty-fifth is coming up.”

“Oh! Yeah! I mean, I guess I’m more anxious than anything. It’s the big one.”

“You’re going to have every twenty-four year old in the country on the edge of their seat waiting to find out if they’re the one.” Another joked. 

You laughed along. “Yeah, I guess it’s coming whether I want it to or not.”

You were near the end of the route, so it wasn’t long after that you were off the hook to walk around a bit, get something to eat.

Steve turned to you, trying to sound casual when he asked, “You don’t want your birthday to come?”

“I mean, yeah.” You shrugged. “I’m not entirely set on the idea of pledging myself to some stranger for the rest of my life.”

“It’s not always a stranger.” Steve said. “Maybe you already know them.”

“That’s true. That would be…I mean, it would be better, sure, but…I’m pretty sure the only person I want it to be already has someone else.” You couldn’t meet his eyes when you said it, afraid of the answer, one way or the other, whether he finally said it outright, or if those pretty blue eyes said it for him.

You couldn’t handle the heartbreak.

“Wait—”

“(Y/N), we have time to hop on Pirates of the Caribbean.” Wanda said, swooping in to save you. She was really good at that. She took your hand and the two of you ran off in the direction of the ride.

Natasha walked up behind Steve, hand in hand with Bucky, who was nibbling on a churro. Obviously, they had heard the exchange.

“Fuck.” Steve muttered, shaking his head. “Well, great.”

“What’s going on, soldier?” Natasha asked.

“She’s gonna be so pissed when she finds out it’s me.” Steve said, voice small, as he watched you walk away. He waited for you to glance back at him. You didn’t.

“What are you talking about? Steve, she’s liked you for months. She listened to Songs for Sad Bitches when she thought she couldn’t have you.” Natasha reasoned. “Feelings like that don’t just go away.”

Bucky chimed, “Are we forgetting the night at the cabin?”

“That was three months ago.” Steve said, staring at his shoes. “I…I’ve been keeping it from her this entire time, hiding it from her, letting her feel like shit and stress herself out over it. I shouldn’t have gotten so close in the first place, but…I just can’t keep myself away from her. She looks at me with those eyes and I just…crumble.”

“I hear ya, pal.” Bucky said, patting his arm. “But you remember the look in her eyes at the bar that night? You remember the things she said to you? That (Y/N) is still a month away. She still has feelings for you. She still loves you, and she’s…she’s even excited to see the little guy.”

“She loved the little guy.” Steve agreed, smiling softly, remembering the look on your face when he’d found you, laying on his porch, the tenderness with which you’d whispered his name. In a world that constantly looked down on him, figuratively and literally, you were the first person aside from Bucky that made him feel loved, like he had something waiting for him.

Steve let out a long breath, nodding. Bucky was right. Back in the forties, he’d been the level-headed voice of reason, getting Steve out of the trouble his big mouth got him into. Even in the twenty-first century, he was still doing his damage control. In a way, he had missed it.

“Alright, now I know I missed some chapters.” Sam was on Steve’s other side, holding an ice cream sandwich, eyes wide. “When exactly were you going to tell me your soulmate is on the team?”

Steve chuckled. “Surprise?”

“Welcome to the inner circle, Sam. We’ve been waiting for you.” Natasha joked, wearing a grin.

“I mean, it explains a hell of a lot. Here I was thinking she was like…the grandkid of one of your old war buddies or something.”

“That’s what I thought!” Natasha agreed. She and Bucky finally filled Sam in on everything he’d missed over the past several months.

Steve’s eyes wandered back to that couple, dressed as him and you. They were holding hands, walking down the pathway, laughing, talking. They stopped for a selfie together in front of the Avengers Campus sign, which inevitably devolved into a kiss.

And in his head, he replaced them with him and you, carefree and in love in the happiest place on earth.

You’re On Your Own, Kid

Maybe, if you lied very still, you could convince the universe no time was passing at all. You were staring at the ceiling, flat on your back, the weight of the world resting flat against your entire body. No, against your soul, weighing you down.

Tomorrow was your birthday and you were not ready. Not in the slightest.

You let out a loud groan, forcing yourself to get up, to get dressed. You chucked your pajamas in your hamper, throwing on some joggers and a t-shirt, the old Star Wars tee you’d had since high school. It was a simple one, black with stars scattered across the fabric, the yellow logo emblazoned across the front.

There was a knock on your door.

“It’s open.” You called, not turning around to see who it was. You put on your star necklace, the one Steve had given you almost an entire year before. You tucked it under the fabric of the shirt.

“Morning. How’d you sleep?” Steve asked, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes searching.

“Not well.” You sighed, turning to look at him.

“I didn’t either when mine was coming. I swear I didn’t get any sleep for a week.” He said, eyes soft. “I, um, got breakfast. It’s in the kitchen. Those breakfast sandwiches you like.”

Your lips curled into a tired smile. “Thanks. That’s really sweet.”

“Of course. Whatever you want today, just say the word.”

You crossed the room, walking right up to him and straight into his arms. He held you to him, read resting against yours. For a moment, he questioned if it had already happened, if he’d gotten the days mixed up.

If you already knew.

“I just need you to hold me.” You whispered, holding in tears. You should have been excited. It should have felt like Christmas Eve. You should have been absolutely buzzing with excitement for the day to come.

But you weren’t ready to let him go, for everything about your relationship to change. You needed more time.

“I can do that.” He said softly, thumbs etching circles into your shoulders. “As long as you need me to. I’ve got you. Always.”

“Okay.” You whispered, voice breaking. The tears finally slipping down your cheeks. It was all you could say to keep yourself from saying ‘I love you.’

You ate breakfast with the others. Natasha could tell you had been crying, so after, she took you, Wanda, Kate, and Yelena out of the house. It was a welcome distraction. The mall was the perfect spot. It always was. 

“What about this one?” Wanda held another dress against you, imagining you in it for your birthday party the following night. Steve had taken it upon himself to be the entire planning committee, which was why he was back at the Compound with the boys, getting things in order. The only thing he wanted to have to worry about tomorrow was the party itself.

“Does it come in blue?” You asked, eyeing up the rack she’d pulled it off of.

“It does.” She smiled, putting the red one back in exchange for blue. It was sparkling, form-fitting, a little less formal than the one you’d worn to your Avengers induction, but it had the same vibe, just shorter and with a deeper neckline.

“Perfect.” You said, turning towards the dressing room. You handed Wanda your purse and slipped into it. It fit perfectly in all the right places. You did a little turn in the mirror, satisfied, and then walked out into the store again, where Natasha was nodding in approval.

“Alright, dress acquired, where to next?” Kate asked, checking the list she was keeping on her phone.

“I heard there is a Lego store here.” Yelena said absentmindedly, glancing out the door. “We should go.”

“Is that where you got Steve’s Millennium Falcon?” Natasha asked.

“Steve has a Millennium Falcon???” Yelena asked, eyes wide. “I want one.”

“I got it online. It was on sale.”

“I didn’t know Steve liked Star Wars.” Kate noted as you walked back into the dressing room to change back into your Star Wars shirt, ironically enough.

“Loves it. He’s a big nerd. Bucky, too. Buck’s more of a fantasy nerd, though. He’s super into Lord of the Rings.” You could hear the grin in Natasha’s voice when she said it.

“Steve said it was the first thing he watched out of the ice. Star Wars, that is. I don’t know if he’s seen Lord of the Rings yet.” You added. “And he’s talked about going to the Stark Expo back in the day. Vintage nerd.”

“Nice.”

Once you’d paid for the dress, you moved on to the Lego Store, where Yelena just about ran to the Millennium Falcon set to see it for herself.

“Lego typewriter.” Natasha noted, pointed at it. “Speaking of vintage nerd.”

“Oh I’m sure he’d get a kick out of that.” You laughed. Depending on how things settled after your soulmate bomb dropped, maybe you’d come back and get it for him. At the very least, you were pretty sure you’d still be friends after it all. And friends built Lego sets together.

“Hey, wait, there are Legos of us?” Kate asked, eyeing up the display where Steve had, you assumed, gotten your matching keychains. “This is news to me.”

“Let me see.” Yelena walked over and gasped, eyes falling on her Lego self.

Wanda smiled softly, head tilting as she looked at you. She rested her hand on your shoulder.

“It will be fine. To quote someone I care about very deeply: whoever they are, they are lucky to have you. Now, let’s forget about it for a bit.”

“Alright.” You agreed, letting her lead you over to the Build-a-Figure station, where you started mixing and matching the pieces. It was hard, but you let your worries melt away, at least for a little while.

***

Meanwhile, Steve was walking around the Compound with a clipboard, making sure everything was ready for the next day. Scott and the ants were helping put up the decorations. He’d sent Sam and Bucky to pick up the cake, and Tony had taken it upon himself to take care of the catering. A peace offering of sorts.

Steve was putting together the playlist for the party himself, hand-picking songs you liked, recommendations from Nat and Wanda, songs from Taylor Swift’s discography, and then, finally, a special song he’d been saving. 

Steve liked to listen to his records in the privacy of his room, away from the ears of members of the team who would tease him for it. They were forties jazz mostly, made the place feel a little more like home, especially when you weren’t around. But there was a song that he would soon share with you, as soon as tomorrow came. He hesitated to add it, but eventually, he pressed his thumb to the song, adding it to the playlist.

He closed his eyes, remembering that moment. The last song of the night before Val’s closed. It was one of the last times he had gone there.

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…” The singer’s voice had floated across the room, words striking him to his core. He got chills, opening his eyes again. God, he couldn’t wait for you to know. Sure, he was a supersoldier, but he was pretty sure the weight of his secret was finally crushing him.

***

You retreated to your room when you and the girls got home. It was kind of late. You’d decided to catch a movie while you were out. You didn’t mind. You were beyond ready to go to sleep and just…get it over with.

Off with the Band-Aid.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Steve asked, finding Natasha and Kate in the dining room.

“She went to her room for the night.” Kate replied innocently.

“Alright.” He nodded. “How was she doing?”

“Not great.” Yelena said, already into the box of the Lego set she’d settled on. “I mean, she’s like fine. Just…kinda sad.”

“Quiet.” Wanda agreed. Vision had his arm around her.

“Okay, well…” Steve put his hands on his hips, thinking. What was the harm in telling them now? Warning the rest of them what they’d be waking up to tomorrow. “Vision, can you round up the others?”

“Of course.” Vision nodded. “To be clear, I am to leave out (Y/N)?”

“Yeah. Yeah, everyone but (Y/N).” Steve confirmed, leading the others upstairs to one of the lounges. He sat on the couch, mouth resting against his hands, elbows on his knees. Tony sauntered in, followed by Bruce. The rest of the team filed in one by one, finding seats, staring at Steve, waiting for answers.

“So, um, thanks for coming everyone.” Steve said, meeting their eyes.

“Uh, Cap, we’re missing (Y/N).” Clint said, looking around.

“That’s the idea.” Natasha replied.

“Is this a party planning meeting? Do the decorations look okay? I really thought the ants did a good job.” Scott said.

“They did a great job.” Steve reassured him, taking a moment to collect his words. “So, as you all know, tomorrow is (Y/N)’s twenty-fifth birthday. And…I need to finally come clean. I’m her soulmate.”

“Okay, now that I did not know.” Tony said, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Your long lost love is one of our housemates?”

“Tony.” Nat shot him a look.

“No, I’m serious. I’m just…I’m relieved is all.” Tony admitted with a sigh. “I…the reason I didn’t tell her is because I didn’t know if Illustrians…I didn’t know if she’d have one. I figured…” He shook his head, staring at the floor. “I didn’t want to bring her down when it was so close.”

Steve took off the cuff on his wrist, finally finally showing him the mark that had been there since his twenty-fifth birthday in 1943. Your name, written in your neat, careful handwriting, first, middle, and last.

“Why not tell her, then?” Kate asked. “Why haven’t you told her?”

“That’s a little more complicated.” Steve thought. “When I turned twenty-five…she was there. In a few hours, when she goes to sleep, she’s headed to the forties to see…well, me, before the serum. I don’t know how or why, but…when she got there, she didn’t know. I didn’t want to risk changing anything. Butterfly effect and all that.”

“Time travel?” Bruce asked, eyes bugging out of his head. “You are just casually telling us that time travel exists.”

“I guess so.”

“Woah. Bruce. We’ve got some tests to run.” Tony said.

“Oh I am already taking notes in my head.”

The meeting ended shortly after that. The rest of the team gave him supportive words and smiles, but Tony’s were the most poignant. 

“I don’t know what you’re still doing here, Rogers. Go see her off.”

“Right. Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good luck, Steve.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

***

You closed the door after Steve left, listening to his footsteps retreat down the hall, steady and even. You let another tear roll down your cheek. All of the crying was exhausting. You just wanted to be done with it.

You sat on the bed, taking off your bra and chucking it across the room, laying back to relax and, hopefully, get some sleep.

The exhaustion must have been helping, because as soon as you closed your eyes, you felt the drifting start. It was strong and immediate, pulling you down through the mattress. You felt like you were floating and falling at the same time, limbs tingling. Your eyes shot open when you realized what was happening, but it was already too late.

And then everything went white.

Right Where You Left Me

In 1943, you walked hand in hand with your soulmate down the sidewalk, through Steve’s favorite park. It happened to be a shortcut between his favorite diner and the local theater. He liked to sit there sometimes, sketch couples walking by. Never had he imagined he’d be one of the couples someday.

For the past week, he’d about worried himself sick. He’d barely slept, he’d had no appetite, he’d had the worst art block of his life. Every time he fell asleep, he had dreams of finding his soulmate, only for them to be some pretty but shallow girl who didn’t want anything to do with him. He had nightmares of a grayed out mark like Bucky’s, or worse, no mark at all. Which is why when he’d run out that morning to get the mail, he hadn’t even checked yet.

Part of him didn’t want to.

And then he’d found you out there, laying under the mailbox.

And now, he was holding your hand. 

You caught his eyes, grinning. He smiled back, heart racing. Gosh, maybe he needed to sit down.

“Hey, could we sit for a minute?” He asked, motioning to the bench beside the path and trying his best not to sound out of breath.

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed, following him and sitting down beside him, hand still clasped tight in yours. “Do you have an inhaler?”

“What’s an inhaler?”

“Shit, right, they probably haven’t been invented yet…” You murmured, pulling your lip between your teeth. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“You…know about the asthma.” He realized.

You nodded. “I know about all of it, Steve.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “And you’re still looking at me with those eyes?”

“What eyes?” You tilted your head, innocent. “There’s no one else I’d rather be looking at, Steve. Just you.”

“Okay, now I know you’re not real.”

“Am I gonna have to spend all day convincing you I am?”

“You just might.”

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a reddish mark there. “Oops. Sorry, let me—”

Steve grabbed your hand, stopping you from wiping it away. “Leave it. Bucky comes home covered in ‘em all the time. I’ve never gotten one before.”

“I am going to cover you in lipstick marks by the end of today.”

He grinned, finally standing up to keep moving. “Is that a promise?”

***

It was nearing the end of the night. Steve could feel his time with you was nearly spent. So he led you by the hand to the stairs at the back of the bar, the ones that led up to the roof. He’d found himself up there alone on quite a few nights, when the double dates Bucky set up inevitably crumbled.

It was a beautiful night, clear. The stars were out in force, dotting the sky in perfect constellations. In the distance, fireworks boomed. It was one thing he’d always loved about his birthday.

“Wow, this is great.” You murmured, looking out at the city. It was like you were living in a photograph, the old buildings looming in the skyline, vintage cars driving down the street.

“My favorite spot.” He explained, walking over to the railing.

“I can see why.” You let out a sigh, gripping his hand tighter, fingers laced with his. You turned towards him, looking at the smattering of kiss marks on his cheeks. You’d kept true to your word.

Steve twirled you around, pulling you closer, a soft, romantic smile on his face. “God, you are so beautiful.”

“Let me show you something.” You told him, drawing his eyes to your hand where you made a tiny, gentle forcefield, its blue light shining across his features.

“What…is that?” He asked, staring at the orb. “Is that how you got here? Where were you keeping it?”

You curled your fingers, letting the bubble fizzle away. “It’s not a thing. It’s part of me. Something I’ve been able to do since college. There are a lot of people like me where I’m from, people with gifts. Steve…after I leave, your life is about to get a lot weirder than time travel and forcefields. I can’t tell you how or why, but…”

“I appreciate the heads-up.” He assured you, smiling. “And I love you, too. I didn’t say it down there, and I know I just met you this morning, but…I…I love you so much, doll. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you.”

“You, Steve Rogers, are going to do amazing things.” You whispered, taking his hand again.

“Says the girl with superpowers.”

“I’m serious.” You told him. “I grew up hearing stories about you. I wanted to be just like you. Brave beyond words, fiercely loyal. I guess it only makes sense that we share a soul.”

Steve grabbed your face with both hands, kissing you deeply, lips dancing against your own, heart racing, knees wobbling like Jell-O. He rested his nose against yours, breathing shallow.

“Careful, there. Don’t let me take your breath away.”

He shook his head, kissing you one last time before murmuring, “Oh doll, I could do this all day.” He glanced back towards the door, music from downstairs faint. He took your hand. “Let’s go back downstairs. I think they’re playing the last song.”

You smirked, following him. “I thought you had two left feet.”

He shrugged. “I’m a quick learner.”

***

After you’d disappeared, Steve felt hollow, walking slowly back into the house. Bucky was sitting at the kitchen table, absently reading the paper. He met Steve’s eyes when he heard his trudging footsteps.

“She left you something.” Bucky chucked the bundle of fabric at him and Steve caught it, holding it out in front of him.

Your Star Wars shirt. Shit. He hoped you didn’t need it for anything. “Uh oh.”

“Might fit you.” Bucky chuckled. “Obviously you can’t wear it out, but…”

“Yeah.” Steve agreed, eyes sparkling with tears. He held it to his face, inhaling the scent of your perfume like it was oxygen. “God, I miss her.”

“I know, pal. It’ll be alright. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but it will be.” Bucky’s eyes fell to the grayed out mark on his own wrist, so faint it was barely legible. “You just gotta take it one day at the time.”

Don’t Know Where, Don’t Know When

Your veins were on fire. The blinding white shimmered, giving way to…your ceiling. You were laying on your bed again, sunlight streaming through the window.

You blinked a few times, feeling flowing back into your limbs slowly. Your heart raced. You sat up, staring at your hands. Soon enough, your eyes found your wrist. The letters were still there, spelling out the name of your soulmate.

Steven Grant Rogers.

“Oh my god.” You looked up and met your reflection’s eyes, your hair still set in elegant 40s waves. Your pajamas were gone, replaced with the blue dress. Your lips were a deep shade of red, the same shade you’d left all over Steve’s face last night. A different Steve in a different time.

You let out a breath, standing up and walking towards the door, your new-vintage forties heels clicking with every step. You marched straight out to the kitchen, where Steve was sitting at the table, fiddling with his cuff. He was sitting across the table from Bucky and Natasha, whose eyes tried to warn Steve that you were approaching behind him.

“Happy Birthday, (Y/N). Um, how’d you sleep?” He asked, eyes widening when he saw the way you were dressed. His first love, in the flesh, just the way he remembered her.

“I didn’t.” You replied, grabbing his wrist and pulling him out of the room, snatching up the folding footstool leaned on the end counter as you passed.

“Good luck, pal.” Bucky laughed.

You just about kicked open the door of the conference room, skirt swishing as you did. You closed the door behind you, locking it with a click.

“(Y/N), listen, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, but—”

You unfolded the stool, getting up on top of it and pushing him against the wall. You crushed your lips against his, hands grasping the fabric of his shirt. He moaned into your mouth, frozen for a moment until the rest of him got the hint. His eyes fluttered shut, strong arms wrapped around your waist, head tilting as he deepened the kiss.

Your grip on his shirt weakened, arms looping behind his neck, holding him close as his lips left yours. He rested his forehead against yours, breaths ragged. He laughed, tucking his face into the crook of your neck to hide the tint of his cheeks.

“Not quite where I thought this conversation was gonna go.” He murmured against you, pressing kisses up your neck.

You reached for his left hand, fingers lingering against the strip of leather that was still hiding your name.

“You can take it off.” He told you, eyes sparkling. “It’s about time.”

Carefully, you undid the metal bit holding it in place and peeled it back, revealing your name etched there onto his skin, your handwriting unmistakable. You choked on a sob, tears slipping down your face.

“The whole time?” You asked, grabbing onto his hand with both of yours. “You knew the whole time?”

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, eyes falling to the hand you were holding. “I…You didn’t know when I met you. I didn’t want to risk…changing anything.” I didn’t want to risk losing you.

“I can’t believe…Here I thought I was your rebound.” You laughed, sniffling through your tears of relief. “I thought you were falling in love with me and I would be the asshole for getting a soulmate and breaking your heart. And it was me the whole time.”

“That’s why you were worried we wouldn’t be friends?” He asked softly.

You nodded, more tears falling when you remembered the way you’d felt day before.

“Oh, sweetheart…” He shook his head, wiping your tears away. “Honestly…I’m really glad we got to be friends first. Most soulmates don’t get that. It made me appreciate every moment with you even more. It was weird and hard, but…loving you was easy. Always has been. It was not telling you that was crushing me.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t put it together sooner…” You said, shaking your head. “All of those little moments…the reading chair, the Hunger Games marathon, the cabin…” Your heart ached remembering the night in the cabin. 

You remembered him sleeping against the wall in the infirmary after you’d been knocked unconscious, unwilling and unable to leave you alone when you were hurt. You remembered the bewildered look in his eyes when he thought you were dressed up for a date instead of Wanda’s birthday outing. The argument about whether or not you should go on the Red Room mission, when he was more worried about your safety than anything else, broken over the idea of something happening to you when he wasn’t there to help. The Lego set you’d spent hours building together, his hands so careful, fingers brushing against yours every so often. The mission in the Amazon, when the only thing he could think about while pseudo-drunk was you.

It was always you. It had always been you. 

“Steve…”

“Are we gonna be okay?” He asked quietly, watching you, searching your eyes for some flicker of disappointment. “It’s okay if you need time. I’d understand. It’s…well, it’s a lot to process.”

“I just…” You sighed, squeezing his hand. “I can’t believe I get to have you. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Believe it.” He said. He raised your hand, pressing a long kiss to your soulmark. “I love you, (Y/N) (L/N). I always have.”

“I love you too.” You confessed, earning that handsome smile he was so famous for. You couldn’t help but admire him, your supersoldier, the man that time had saved specifically for you. “I don’t need time. I just need you.”

You looked down at your new dress, realizing for the first time what it meant that you were still wearing it. You’d left your other clothes behind.

“Right. Before I forget.” Steve said, presenting a tattered, faded wad of fabric that had once been a shirt. “You left this at my place.”

You unfurled the fabric to find your missing Star Wars shirt, or what was left of it. You stared at it, dumbfounded. “You’ve had this the whole time?!”

“Took it everywhere with me.” He admitted. “Storming Hydra bases in Europe, Battle of New York, Sokovia, everywhere. I used to wear it, back when I was…you know, but it didn’t fit after my growth spurt. Sorry I couldn’t get it to you in better shape.”

“This is why you like Star Wars.” You realized, staring at it and looking back up at him.

“Yes.”

“Oh my god.” You laughed, shaking your head. You handed it back to him. “I think you need this more than I do, Steve. You can hold onto it for me if you want.”

He smiled, eyes soft. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, of course. I know it’s safe in your hands.”

Your shirt wasn’t the only thing that was safe in his hands. You were pretty sure, finally, that your heart was, too.

You stepped down from your footstool. Steve watched with an amused smile, chuckling.

“We had less of a height difference last night.” You reminded him, folding up the stool.

“I remember.” He reached for your hand and you gave it to him. He brought it to his lips, kissing each of your knuckles with care. “God, I missed this. I missed you so much, doll. Which is silly because you’ve been here, but…”

“I get it.” You reassured him, dropping his hands and wrapping your arms around him instead. 

He hugged you to his chest, resting his head against yours and letting out a long breath. You could tell he’d been holding it in for a long, long time.

***

Before you changed out of your forties look, Wanda insisted on a little photoshoot, which you were grateful for. Looking back, it would be fun to have pictures, even just as more proof that it had actually happened. Steve obviously sat in on some of the photos.

You asked some questions, of course, such as “who all knew?” The answer was everyone, but not until the night before when he’d finally come clean to the team. Before that, it had just been Bucky and Nat, and more recently, Sam.

Wanda claimed she had felt something, but never pried. Anyone could see it, though. Anyone with eyeballs. The way he looked at you had always been with love.

You changed into your dress for the party, necklace on display between your collarbones. You touched up your makeup a little bit, but left it. Bucky’s vintage lady friend had done a good job.

Tony showed up about an hour before the party was supposed to start, instructing the caterers. He stopped in his tracks, meeting your eyes with an apologetic smile. “Rogers tell you my side of the story?”

“He did.” You nodded. “And I appreciate you looking out for me. Kind of. In your own way.”

“And I am sorry, for the record. Maybe there would have been a way to bring it up without…you know.” Tony shrugged. “Happy birthday, kid. I’m glad it all worked out for you and the old-timer.”

You chuckled. “Thanks.”

“Got in touch with your parents. You were right. They’re off-planet. But I have their contact info if you want to…”

“Yeah, I’d really like that. Thank you, Tony.”

“Of course. I’ll get that all squared away.”

Steve walked up to you as Tony walked away, eyes landing on the necklace there. You realized, as he stared at it, that you’d been wearing it the night before. You hadn’t taken it off before bed.

“Is that what you meant when you said you had help picking it out?” You realized, putting the pieces together. “I thought you meant Natasha or something.”

“No, I uh…” He grinned, nodding. “I got a good look at it that night. You never said who gave it to you, but I figured it may as well be me.”

Steve was wearing a blue button-up, his nice black slacks that did everything for his legs. He’d shaved, combed his hair all neat. His hand settled on the small of your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You stood on your toes, hooking an arm around his neck and tugging him down for a kiss, lips melting against his. You felt his warm hand settle on your jaw, tilting your head just so. He smelled good, like his woodsy mahogany cologne. His breath was fresh, spearmint. And his lips were soft, confident but gentle.

His nose nuzzled yours, breath warm as it fanned across your cheeks. He met your eyes for a moment before pressing a kiss to your forehead, pulling you against him again. Now that he could touch you freely, he just couldn’t get enough.

“Bout time.” Bucky chuckled, walking into the room, Natasha’s hand in his. She looked great, wearing a nice red dress. “How are you two doing?”

“Great, Buck.” Steve replied, still not letting you go as he swayed. “I’m doin’ great. How are you, birthday girl?”

“It’s the best one I’ve had so far.” You said, echoing his words when you’d asked him the same question. You kissed him again, lips finding his easily.

He smiled, eyes sparkling. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Same here.” You told him. “I’ve had a crush on you since middle school. Imagine how I feel.”

“Middle school???” He asked, laughing.

“Yeah, why do you think I was crying at Air and Space Museum?”

“I was still in the ice!”

“Middle school girl crushes know no bounds, Captain Rogers.” Kate said, her and Yelena walking into the room next, more or less matching in their black dresses and purple and red accents. “I had plenty of crushes on old dead guys when I was in middle school. No offense.”

He laughed. “None taken.”

The party guests arrived in waves. The remainder of the team came, along with the extended family: Maria Hill, Jane Foster and her intern Darcy. A handful of your college friends came, buzzing about the prospect of being at the Avengers Compound, as well as the fact that you were an Avenger now, since most of them hadn’t seen you since that change had occurred.

You greeted them all as they came in, smiling and laughing and joking around like you did during the good old days. You introduced them to your new friends, your team. The playlist Steve had agonized over set the perfect tone. Some songs were upbeat and danceable, some were chill and slow, giving the couples in the room the chance to pair off and dance together.

During one of such songs, Steve offered his hand.

“Come on, let’s dance.”

“Like old times…” You murmured, hand sliding into his as he led you out onto the makeshift dancefloor.

Steve faced you, strong hand settling on your waist, the other still wrapped around yours. There was only one song it could be, of course. His favorite of the songs you had shown him thus far. He spun you around, face hovering just behind your ear, where he pressed a tender kiss before spinning you back around to face him.

“Even if we’d met on a crowded street in 1944, and you were headed off to fight in the war…”

“You still would have been mine, we would have been timeless…” You sang softly, meeting his eyes, the smile on your face matching his own. It was like Taylor had plucked the lyrics from your very heart.

“I think we kind of are.” He said, head nuzzled to yours, still swaying along to the song.

“Yeah, I think so too.” You replied.

When the song was over, Steve leaned in and asked, “Can I give you your presents now?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded.

He led you out of the room and down the hall to one of the conference rooms, where he’d stashed them earlier. There were four things waiting there. A medium box, a tiny box, and two easels covered with sheets.

He turned a chair around and motioned for you to sit, so you did. He handed you the bigger box first, and the infamous clinking sound gave it away before you could even get the wrapping paper off.

“Oh I think I know what this is.”

“I thought you might say that.” He chuckled. “I didn’t know if you had this one or not. I kept the receipt just in case…”

You tore the paper off to reveal a Lego set. It was Van Gogh’s Starry Night. “I don’t have this one yet. And I cannot wait to build it with you.”

“That makes two of us, doll.” He kissed your cheek, handing you the next present, the smaller one.

You tore the paper off to reveal a small velvet box. You gently lifted the lid and inside, there was a set of star earrings and a simple silver band. An eternity band, if you weren’t mistaken. Not an engagement ring, but it was a common gift for soulmates to give once they found each other, especially after they’d spent some time together.

“Oh, Steve…” You murmured, tears in your eyes. “They’re beautiful.”

“Can I?” He asked, kneeling down beside you and reaching for the ring.

“Yeah, of course.” You held out your hand and let him slide the band onto your finger. How he’d gotten your size, you didn’t know, but it fit perfectly.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this since 1943.” He confessed, hands lingering around your own.

“It’s still so crazy to me.” You sighed, shaking your head. You met his eyes. “You were in love with me before I even existed, before my parents were even born.”

“I know.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to your cheek, another to the corner of your lips. “When I woke up after the ice, I…I was lonely for a while. I spent a lot of days alone, learning, trying to figure out the new world I’d found myself in. I was kind of bitter. I didn’t know why it had happened to me…until I found you in the mall that day. And then I knew it wasn’t some accident. What happened to me was fate. You’re my destiny. Everything that happened led me straight to you and it was all worth it.”

“You can’t keep doing this to me.” You sighed, fingers intertwining with his.

“Doing what?”

You leaned your forehead against his, whispering, “Making me fall more in love with you.”

“No promises.” He laughed, kissing your lips and pulling you to your feet. “On my twenty-fifth, you said you didn’t know I was an artist and I promised I’d show you sometime.”

He pulled the sheet off of the first painting. It was you, glowing a brilliant blue, streaks of energy emanating from you like you were a star. Your eyes glowed, hair blew in the breeze. Behind you was a bright waypoint and zipping through the air was his shield, all of it captured in breathtaking oil painting. You wondered how long it had taken.

“This is so beautiful, Steve.” You rested your head against him, arm wrapped around his waist. “You made me look like a freaking goddess.”

“Well now you know how I see you.” He reached for the sheet covering the second painting, a little more careful with this one due to the age of it alone. “You might recognize this one.”

It was the painting from the antique shop, the soulmates dancing in Val’s. Now, with your new knowledge, you recognized them immediately. It was you and Steve. Always had been. Tears slipped down your cheeks and your hand covered your mouth, muffling your sobs. There was a time when you were afraid no one would ever love you as much as the blond-haired man loved the girl he was dancing with and it had been you all along.

But that little blond guy had painted it for you, not knowing whether or not you would ever get to see it.

You turned to Steve, standing on your toes to wrap your arms around his shoulders, head resting against his strong frame as you cried.

“I never stopped looking. Never.” Steve said, voice getting emotional. “Every base I went to, I met every nurse. At every coffee shop, I studied every college student in case you were there doing homework. Every time I went to the theater, I was scanning faces for yours. It became habit, looking for you. I…”

“You found me.” You said, pulling away to see his face. You brushed his tears away with a gentle thumb. “You found me, Steve.”

He surged forward, kissing you deeply, with a century of passion behind his lips. Your hand wandered into his soft blond hair, the other settling against his firm chest. His hands caressed your body, memorizing every curve and dip, lips chasing yours through every slight movement. And after, he pressed a dozen kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your nose. You giggled, finally catching his lips again.

Your breaths were heavy when he finally pulled away; his, too. You straightened out the fabric of his dress shirt, pulling him back down for one last kiss. Then another. Then, really, one last one.

“I love you, Steve Rogers. Now, then, and always.”

“Now, then, and always.” He murmured, kissing you again.

The two of you cleaned yourselves up before returning to the rest of the party. You blew out your candles and made your wish, for an eternity side by side with him, that wherever life took the two of you, it took you there together.

You had a slice of cake and some ice cream, sitting on the couch next to Steve, legs draped over his. He used his thumb to dab a little frosting onto the tip of your nose. You smeared frosting across his cheek with yours, which made him laugh.

After, there was one last song before most of the guests would be headed home for the night. As soon as the instrumental kicked in, you got emotional. It had been your last song with Steve the night before, a song that had been written about those going off to war, their futures as uncertain as the stars were numerous.

For Steve, it held a different meaning. He’d known then that his time with you was running out. He had no idea when he’d see you again, just that it would be a long time and that the version of you he met wouldn’t even know him yet, that it might be years before he got to kiss you again.

And so, the two of you danced as you had the night before, on Steve’s twenty-fifth and on yours, your face tucked against his, his arms wrapped tight around you as you swayed gently to the music.

“We’ll meet again. Don’t know where, don’t know when, but I know we’ll meet again some sunny day…”

Tags: @cap-lu20

[chaimilkshake]

Pink Carnations - Worst Logan x reader

summary - Logan still thinks about the you from his universe, so what happens when he meets the you from this universe?

word count - 1.7k

warnings - none!

song - we’re in love by boygenius

a/n - this is much more my writing style, but still trying to figure out tumblr’s formatting so forgive me

The smell of freshly bloomed flowers and spring air filled Logan’s nose.

There you were, knelt in the garden, like always. Tending to your favorite flowers. Those pretty, pink carnations that came about every May, without fail.

A soft breeze pushed your hair back from your shoulders, revealing your face to him, as pretty as ever. He couldn’t do anything but stand there and stare. You looked so beautiful.

You turned your head as you noticed him, that familiar smile dawning upon your face, joy spreading to your eyes. “Hi, honey.”

The sweet sound of your voice rang through his ears, bringing a warm feeling to his chest. He let out a breath, finding himself unable to respond.

You sat back on your haunches, patting the dirt off your gloves. “Do you wanna help me?” You asked, gazing up at him.

“Logan?”

He couldn’t do anything but stare. Stare at your beautiful face, feel the spring breeze, smell the fresh flowers, hear your sweet voice.

“Logan, help me.”

Your voice adopted a concerned tone, looking at him now with panic in your eyes.

“Logan, help me! Logan!”

“Logan! Rise and shine, peanut!”

Wade’s voice shook Logan from his dream, causing him to come back to reality. The man stood over the couch, looking down at him.

“Good morning, sleepy head! Sleep well? I know I did. You’d think sleeping with an old blind woman would be disturbing, but she’s quite the cuddler,” the man went on as he rounded the couch, lifting Logan’s legs to sit down, allowing them to rest across his lap.

Logan pulled his legs away, sitting up with a sigh. He ran a hand over his face, convincing his conscious to come back to reality. “Slept fine,” he grumbled eventually.

“Great!” Wade said, patting Logan’s leg. “Then you’ll be ecstatic to know, it’s a very special day, my friend. You know Vanessa.”

Logan couldn’t help scoffing lightly at that. “Yes, I know Vanessa.”

“Well. It’s our anniversary. And I’m nothing if not a romantic. So, I’ve got an errand for you!”

Logan groaned, head leaning back against the couch. “I’m not running all around the city for you, asshole. She’s your girlfriend, you can do the heavy lifting.”

“Oh I will be. While I’m out on the town with my lovely lady friend, you will be back here, setting up for the after party.” Wade delivers a perfectly timed wink that says more than words had to.

Logan contemplates for a moment before sitting his head back up. “Fine.”

Wade gasped excitedly at that, clapping. “I knew you had it in you, Wolvie! I’ve already written you this lovely list of preparations.”

The man handed him a slip of paper, messily scribbled on, including doodles. The list read:

• Those tiny candles for mood setting ;)

• Wham! Make It Big CD

• Rose petal trail

Logan read over the list, having to squint a little to see the words correctly. The items seemed easy enough, and it gave him something to do with his day. “When do you need these?” He asked, watching Wade get up from the couch.

“ASAP, babycakes! But preferably by 5 PM, sharp!” He explained as he sauntered back down the hallway to their bathroom for a shower.

Logan grumbled at that, tossing the list on the coffee table for the time being. He had some time to go back to sleep for a bit.

It was around three o’clock, and Logan was almost done with Wade’s stupid errands. He’d collected the candles and the CD (after checking three different music stores), and now all that was left was the rose petals.

He’d heard about this local florist just by the apartment that was cheaper than any grocery store, and had incredibly good quality flowers. So, on his way back, Logan stopped for the rose petals.

He stepped in, welcomed by a shop with white tile floors and light green walls. Plants stood in every corner of the place, and a pleasant aroma hung in the air. It wasn’t until he saw you that everything clicked in place.

“Hi, welcome in! How can I help you?”

The familiar sound of your voice stuck in his head, his feet glued in their spot. Of course there’d be another you. This was another universe, after all. And you worked at a flower shop. Every piece of the puzzle was snapping together.

“Do you think we’re together in every universe?” You asked, cuddled into his side one cold, winter night. The fireplace was warm, but he was warmer. He wrapped an arm around you as you tucked into him.

He chuckled at your words. “I think that’s an interesting idea.”

“Promise me that we are? That you’d find me, in the next and the next?”

“I promise, my love.”

He had been standing and staring for a good minute now, and you were clearly getting creeped out.

“Uh, sir? Is there something I can help you with?” You asked again, leaning against the front counter.

Logan cleared his throat, looking down to the counter to avoid your gaze. “Yes, sorry. Do you, uh, do you guys sell rose petals? Or just roses I can take the petals off of?”

You hummed at that, nodding and moving to your display of roses. “Of course. We have red, white, pink, yell-“

“Red is fine.”

You stopped abruptly when he interrupted you, watching him for a second before nodding. “Alright. I can take those petals off for you and package them up. Wouldn’t want you to end up with a thorn in your thumb,” you hum as you pick a couple roses up from the bin.

Logan watches as you pluck each petal off the flower carefully, creating a pile. You always worked with such precision. That much hasn’t changed.

He took the pack of rose petals, fishing out his wallet. “How much?”

“That’d be $7.” You say, plugging it into the computer.

“That’s it?” Logan says before he can stop himself, looking up at you. He shook his head, pulling out a 20 and handing it over. “Keep the change.”

You looked between the 20 and him, shaking your head. “No, sir, I couldn’t possibly-“

“Please,” he pleaded, letting out a defeated sigh. “Just take it.”

You hesitate another second before taking the 20 from him and making the change. “Thank you…”

He nods, quickly exiting the shop before you could say anything else. He trekked back to the apartment, bags gripped tightly in his hands.

When he got home, Al was in the middle of leaving.

“I may be blind, but ain’t deaf. I sure as hell won’t be sticking around there for when they come home,” she protested as she walked towards the elevator.

Logan watched her go, sighing as he let himself in. His interaction with you was still lingering in his mind. It had never really occurred to him that there would be another you here. He still wasn’t really sure what to do about it, if anything.

Once it turned 4:30, Logan set up everything. Trailing the rose petals into Wade’s room, setting and lighting the candles, and putting the CD into the player.

As soon as he was done, he also set out for the night. He had no idea where he was going to go, but he would figure it out.

He wandered for a while, past bars and restaurants and clubs. But none of them appealed to him. Being around a bunch of young people, desperate for some kind of escape from their everyday lives didn’t sound appealing to him.

Soon, he found a smaller bar restaurant with a much calmer atmosphere. As he walked in, he was able to seat himself at the bar, immediately ordering a drink.

You were out to drink with a couple friends you hadn’t seen in a while when you saw him. The man who gave you the $13 tip earlier. Of course, it wasn’t much, but as a tip? Probably the biggest one you’ve received.

“I’ll be right back,” you say to your friends, taking your glass and sliding into the seat next to the man. “Hey,” you say, smiling over at him.

The older man looked up, face going white as soon as he saw you, as if he’d seen a ghost.

“I just wanted to thank you for the tip. You’ve bought me…about two drinks,” you joke, raising your glass slightly. “That was very generous of you.”

The man cleared his throat, looking back down at his own drink and nodding. “Don’t mention it,” he grumbled.

You hesitated, but continued. “I haven’t been able to go out with friends for a while. Haven’t had the money. But here I am,” you explain. Something about the man drew you in. You weren’t sure what, but he was…comfortable.

The man hummed, downing the rest of his drink while you watched. “I never caught your name,” you say, not backing off, despite him being uninterested.

“Logan,” he let out, finally moving to face you now.

“Logan,” you repeated, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you.”

As the night progressed, the two of you talked and talked. After the last call, you decided the conversation couldn’t end. “Walk me home?” You ask, sliding your jacket over your outfit.

“Course,” Logan assured you, holding the door open as you left the bar.

“So. You’re a florist,” he says, sliding his hands in his pockets while you walk.

“How’d you know?” You tease, smiling up at him.

He chuckled, looking down at his feet. Likely the first time that night you’d seen him laugh. “Do you have a favorite flower?” He asks, and you can tell he held his breath while he waited for the answer.

“Probably pink carnations,” you reply easily.

Although, nothing about the way Logan received that information was easy. In his world, he had let you down. Betrayed you to the highest degree. While the woman standing beside him was you, it wasn’t you. He knew he could never save you, but this was his chance to keep his promise.

In every universe.

[sloanesallow]

twenty

Sebastian is forgetting something.... (I wrote this in one go, mostly because I forgot at the last moment that I head-canon Sebastian's birthday as being today (ish, it's now past midnight), November 8th. Yes, I made him a triple Scorpio. He's more fun that way.) Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (Siobhan Sloane) Tags: Sappy. A crumb of sadness. >1k words [Ao3] | [Wattpad] | [Tumblr Masterlist]

Sebastian is still working at his makeshift desk on Level Two when the clock strikes midnight. He pays the chiming bells little attention, scribbling away with his quill to finish the stack of reports his goblin supervisors at Gringots want handed over in the morning. Not so long ago, he would scoff at the suggestion of having a goblin as a boss, but Sebastian has come a long way since fifth year and knows how privileged he is to have the position he does. There are still eight more long months left in his internship, but by next summer, he will be a fully-trained curse breaker, ready for a proper field assignment.

He's mid quill-stroke when his ears prick up at the sound of shuffling in the nearby corridor. It's too late for it to be another Ministry employee, and Bigsby the elf has already made his cleaning rounds for the evening. Sebastian furrows his brows, listening as he hears the mystery person knock on the other doors in the hall. Too curious to ignore, he strides over to poke his head out, but when he opens the door he's surprised to see Sloane.

"Girlfriend?" he chirps in surprise, the first word that bounces through his brain and out his mouth.

Sloane suppresses a giggle, her lips curling up in a small smile as she nods. Sebastian steps aside, allowing her to enter the disorganized storage closet the Aurors have repurposed for him to use as an office. He stares at her, blinking several times in disbelief, wondering if he's slipped into some kind of sleep-deprived hallucination.

"What're you doing here?" he asks, grasping her hand and breathing a sigh of relief at the warmth he feels. "Why aren't you in Marseille?"

"Hello to you too, Sebastian," she quips, squeezing his hand as she laces their fingers. "I wanted to surprise you, but you weren't home. Ominis suggested you'd be here, says you're always here."

"Not always," he retorts, eyes still darting across her face and body to identify any subtle changes since he saw her last. It's been one month and thirteen days, and Sloane knows he's been counting. Her hair is a fraction longer, tied in a loose braid that he itches to undo with his fingers.

"It's midnight," she says back and he sheepishly grins. Sloane looks at him pointedly in the way that tells him there's something else, but his mind draws a blank.

"What?"

"Really?"

"Really...what?"

Sloane frowns and Sebastian feels his heart flutter with panic. Lack of sleep is all fun and games until it causes memory loss. He scratches the stubble on his jaw, struggling to recall if he's done anything foolish (more foolish than usual), or forgotten something important. Their anniversary isn't for another few months...unless he's slipped into an errant time experiment from Level Nine.

"Have you truly forgotten?" His girlfriend decides to put him out of his misery, replacing his hand with her own as she cups the side of his face, thumb sweeping across his cheek. "Sebastian, it's your birthday."

He straightens in alarm, eyes wide in realization. Midnight. Wednesday, the eighth of November. His birthday. More significantly, his twentieth birthday. A nice, round number—the true start of adulthood. Sebastian gulps, and wonders if the knot in his stomach is existential dread.

His thoughts drift, and he can't help but feel guilty for not remembering—it isn't just his birthday. Perhaps that's why it's slipped his mind; there's not much of a reason to celebrate getting older when he's still estranged from his twin. It's been years since he saw her last, and even longer since they welcomed a birthday together. The ache in his chest lingers, even as Sloane presses up on her toes to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"I didn't want you to be alone, not today," she whispers, looping her arms around his shoulders when he moves to encircle her in a tight embrace. Sloane may be the only person, besides Ominis, who knows and understands the specific kind of pain this day might bring.

"I'm sorry," she adds and he quietly hushes her, stopping her apology short. It might've been nice to remain blissfully ignorant, but eventually, he'd remember and feel even worse about forgetting later on. For a long moment, he just holds her, thinking for what must be the millionth time about how damn lucky he is to have Sloane in his life, how wonderful it is to love and be loved in return.

"You're here," he breathes, kissing her temple, and then her forehead and nose before smiling against her lips. "I'm so happy you're here."

"Me too."

"For how long?" he murmurs between little kisses, savoring the sensation, knowing he'll miss it when she has to leave again. Stupid Marseille, he thinks, there are plants in England, too. "Do we have time to—"

Sebastian's stomach interrupts his suggestion with a loud gurgle that makes Sloane snicker, her nose crinkling in the way he adores. She playfully scolds him, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. "When's the last time you ate?"

"Uhh..." he shrugs and steals another peck. "Kisses will suffice."

"Sebastian!" she laughs, not bothering to squirm away. "You need to eat!"

"I agree!" he scoops her up, waggling his eyebrows before latching onto to patch of skin on her neck that makes her mewl. "I'll start with you."

[hearts4youz]

"Captains Daughter" ● Chapter One ●

A/N Heyy!! welcome to the first chapter of my first fic posted on Tumblr!!! I want to thank you in advance for reading my work, please provide criticism and feedback, I would greatly appreciate it :) I want to keep this authors note short so without further ado (ew) heres chapter one!

Word count 954

You strode into the mess hall like you've done many times before. Only this time, you worked here. When you were younger your father, Captain John Price, would bring you up to the base some days. You remembered ogling at the huge Humvee's and armored tanks in the garages, and the rooms full of state of the art weaponry you would see in the video games you had on the xbox your dad had bought you for Christmas one year. Smiling at the memory, you hopped in line to get a bite to eat before your meeting, which immediately followed the allotted time for breakfast.

Steak and eggs were being served today, based on the relatively low level of complaining from the people around you, you assumed it was one of the better meals served on base. As a kid, you never ate on base when your dad would bring you. When you were really young he would go out to McDonalds to get a happy meal for you. As you got older you packed your own lunch.

After you received your meal, you found an open spot at a half filled table. Nodding at those who were already seated there, you settled in at the other end of the table, savoring what would likely be your last bit of alone time for the rest of the day.

Your first day at a new base felt almost like your first day at a new school, you thought as you wandered the corridors trying to find the meeting room your father had told you to report to. You scanned the endless doorways, looking for one labelled "Meeting room 7." Cursing as you passed another one labeled storage, you thought you would be late. Turning another corner in this Labyrinth that was supposed to become your second home, you finally found it. You twisted the handle and stepped into a room with a long wooden table, a whiteboard streaked with poorly erased marker lines, and five men seated around the table.

You were greeted with a beaming smile from your father as you stepped inside and shut the door behind you.

"Gentlemen, this is my daughter Y/N, she has been recently assigned to our unit and will begin training with us and joining us for missions today," your father beamed, proud that the young woman he raised would be joining his team.

You offered a shy wave and a smile to the rest of the room, you studied each of them as they introduced themselves.

"I'm Sergeant Kyle Garrick, but you can call me Gaz, one sporting a ball cap with the British flag imprinted on the front said. he had a light stubble on his chin and above his lip.

"Everyone calls me soap 'round here," The guy with the mohawk grinned, he appeared to be the goofiest out of the group. Next to him was a tall man, face obscured by a skull mask. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

"Ghost, Lieutenant," His thick Manchester accent stated. The exposed portion of his face was unreadable as he looked at you.

"Alejandro Vargas, Colonel, Mexican Special Forces," The last one to introduce himself said with a smile.

"Well, I'm excited to start working alongside you all, and i'm looking forward to getting to know you all," you responded kindly, receiving nods and murmured agreements in return.

The one who called himself soap beckoned you over and patted the seat next to him as your father started yakking about the day's tasks. He grinned as you sat down next to him.

"Price says your a sergeant," he queried.

"I am, and you?" you responded.

"twins," he laughed.

While Price droned on, you and Soap chatted about anything and everything. You half listened to your dad, not wanting to miss important information and have a huge fuck up your first day on the job.

Eventually, Soap gave you the run down on each member of the unit. You learned that him and Gaz were good friends, Alejandro leads another group called Los Vaqueros, and the real name of the scary ghost guy was Simon Riley.

"He's a man of few words at first, well actually he's always a man of few words," Soap corrected himself. "but he's a good guy when you get to know him, he's an excellent soldier too," he continued.

"I don't think he's very fond of me joining," you said.

"Naw, he'll come around eventually, he's just trying to act all tough" Soap insisted.

you hummed, tuning back into the meeting. Towards the end of it, your father mentioned assigning a training partner for you. Task Force 141 was in much more violent territory, with tougher foes. You would need extra help to catch up to the skill level of the rest of the group

"I'd like Ghost to assist Y/N in training," Price finished.

You could see Ghost's brows furrowing from the eye holes in his mask, You could see Ghosts brows furrow from the eye holes in his mask, they were a shade of light blue, almost grey. Other than that, Ghost had no comment about the order. Price dismissed the meeting.

You waited for everyone to clear out before walking up to your dad, he kissed your forehead and smiled at you "Need something kiddo?" He asked.

"Well I can't find where my bunk is for starters," you said sheepishly.

This new base was huge, in your old one everyone slept in barracks. Here, everyone gets their own room.

"Of course kid," He chuckled as you made your way out of the meeting room.

Today, you would settle in. Tomorrow, the real work begins.

[the-nosy-neighbor]

Back of Your Head, Pt 2

There are multiple hints that Sally has two sides or aspects:

Initially, there were two things that made me suspicious about Sally being a divided being:

(I know one of these is canon and one isn’t).

Here, we see an earlier design, one that shows Sally’s buttons as star on one side, moon on the other. In much the same way, her door shows sun (star) on one side and moon on the other., surrounded by her crown. Introducing a moon to aspects of her character is really not necessary. As a star, her story is pretty complete. Fell from the sky, likes to be the center of attention, does theatre. However, a moon has been introduced. We can also see a difference in the eyes of the two halves of the door. Sally’s official image has the same closed eye and blue eyelid.

Sally’s eyes are much more varied than the other neighbors, spending a lot of time closed (tumblr hates all the pics, so I'm going to skip the eyes closed ones, but you can find them in the gallery on the fandom page for Sally)

Sally has her eyes closed way more often than the others, to the point that I was wondering in a post the other day if her eyes have to close for her to shine. She also is very obviously presented with one eye closed with a blue lid on the closed eye more than once, reflecting her door.

In addition to all this, when I wrote about Sally’s Pedrolino costume, I discussed the connections of the French version of the character, Pierrot, to the moon. Sally’s costume looks more like Pierrot version of the character. It appears that Sally is making a reference to her moon aspect with the costume. In that Halloween record, as well, she describes the things that happen at night, which is suspect.

Now, for the shape of the head:

Their art is super cool.  They go so far as to name this aspect of the Sally character Molly (which makes sense). 

On twitter, ArinaX7 posted this image called “Sally Moon”

Which is also badass.

So, I’m not the only one to guess at a dual character in Sally.

I can see where the first artist pulled this idea from.  The blue eyelid is also what kind of pushed me in the direction of a sun/moon Sally.  The question is, would she be half sun, half moon, or would she be more like depicted here—either fully moon with a false exterior, or fully moon at times and fully sun at others?

I think there is a bit more proof that the back of Sally’s head is being pointed out to us:

In some of the early sketches for Sally, the back of her head is flat.

True, it could just not be drawn, but given what Clown was doing here, you would think that this aspect of her would be explored.  (Also, her second row of spikes here decidedly less spiky, which could also be a hint?)  By the time Clown had done the Pedrolino costume, her head was rounded.  At least, I’m reading it that way.

It reminds me of Julie’s legs.  In early versions of Julie’s character, her legs are more rainbow (which is probably where the idea of a rainbow monster comes from) and later, she has the blue to green fade, which we realized were her actual legs, not tights.  Could they have started as tights?

There is another detail that makes me wonder—

You can see in this image the shadow between the front row of spikes and the second.  This appears in different strengths throughout depictions of her.  Is this show between supposed to delineate the layers in the sense of that her crown isn’t fused?  The artist above draws Sally’s crown like the two layers exist on the front and the back, which would mean two layers of two colored spikes pressed together.  What I had imagined was this:

Sharper points on the front, less sharp on the back piece

Two halves that press together with spikes on each side, yellow on the front, and orange on the back.

Interestingly, her toy is split down the middle as well, but that makes sense for the construction of the toy, so it might mean nothing. 

Oh, and I almost forgot, her valentine is “I’m over the stars for you…and maybe the moon too.”

This isn’t a ton of new information, but it is an attempt to explain why we got a truly strange shot of Sally and what seeing the back of her head might mean for us. 

[climbthemountain2020]

time won't fly (it's like i'm paralyzed by it) - Chapter 7/Loop 33

I Know You, I Walked With You Once Upon A Dream

Summary: Every day, Rhysand wakes up next to Amarantha in her bed Under the Mountain. A prisoner, a weapon, a High Lord on a leash. He's been down there so long, it's starting to feel like time doesn't matter. 

Until one day, it doesn't. 

Feyre's death sends Rhysand back in time, waking up on the same day - over and over. Now, Rhysand must discover how to break the time loop, save his mate, and keep his sanity intact. 

A "round robin" style fanfiction with different authors. This work is meant to be read from beginning to end, but each chapter is written by a different author with their own spin on the time loop prompt. 

Warnings: mild canon-typical violence, NSFW, sexual content

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Word Count: 4k

Notes: Surprise! I am part of the hivemind! I am not subtle, lol.

I literally cannot tell you how much fun I have had with this wonderful group of people plotting and planning and cackling over all these chapters. @feysand-hivemind it’s been so fun to match your freak! I’ve had such a blast being a part of this.  <3 Thank you @popjunkie42 @tunaababee @witch-and-her-witcher and @rosanna-writer for the beta help! <3

Tumblr Masterlist | Read on Ao3 or under the cut.

Dead again.  

This time he hadn’t even known that something was wrong. He’d had a grand plan, a measured procedure for how things were going to go. Perhaps, he’d thought, if no one interfered at all, she would make it through the trials on her own and then the two of them might start with a cleaner slate. 

He should have known that she wouldn’t survive without any interventions at all. She was so lovely and beguiling, so smart and scrappy, so willful and stubborn, that it was so simple to forget she was also so tragically fragile and human. 

It had been two weeks since the last death, the reset having taken him by surprise, but he was biding his time now. Not intervening hadn’t worked, intervening too soon was equally disastrous. So instead, Rhys was performing his least favorite activity as he wiled his time away Under the Mountain: he was being patient. 

Blessedly, Amarantha had been sidetracked. Two uprisings in Day and Winter had kept her furious and occupied since he’d last awoken in her bed. The silence and privacy he’d been given in her distracted absence had left him time to think about what other approaches he might take to see this through to a different end. 

He sat on his bed in the darkness, the stress of the past two weeks compounding as he wondered where his little painter–where Feyre –might be now. He let his head sink into his hands, the pounding headache moving from his temples to the base of his skull. After fifty years, he thought he’d grow used to this living space, these bare, windowless walls, the stuffy and stagnant air. Normally, he could shove that claustrophobia, that need to breathe , somewhere deep down and far away. But today? Today Rhys had reached the end of his rope almost immediately upon waking, the walls closing in and sending his mind racing against the base need to feel open air on his skin. 

How many times was he going to live this torture?

He had wondered more than once about the potential merits of writing all the details down, even just to see them there on the paper. Would it make it more real? Would it make it more tolerable? At the end of the day, he’d decided over and over that it would be no use. He took nothing with him when the loops restarted–nothing but memories and the ever-growing desperation that this might be the punishment he’d earned for a lifetime of idiocy. 

And truly, he had earned this. He had done everything for the selfish benefit of keeping his home and his family safe. He would beg, barter, kill, and steal to keep them well and away from this, even knowing what torturous and questionable things he’d be required to do by Amarantha. He thought of his family as he so often did– Azriel’s brooding kindness, Cassian’s easy, teasing smile, Mor tossing her head back in laughter, and Amren’s harsh but loyal nature. He’d do it all again for them.

This time, though, the images didn’t end with them. They floated effortlessly into swirls of golden hair, freckles, and gray-blue eyes. They echoed with her taunting tone, her words–both sharp and curious–, her smile. Feyre was the key to this loop, somehow, and Rhys was going to figure it out even if it killed him. Again.  

Tonight had seen Rhys plagued again by nightmares. He had awoken in a cold sweat, the guilt and nausea eating at him as he’d shot awake in the dark room. Every night, he’d relive the light leaving her eyes as she died, that bright spirit guttering out as she searched for him across a sea of faces.

Feyre. Feyre. Feyre. 

He felt her name pulse through his mind like the beat of his heart. 

He was overcome by a need to see her, to assure himself that she was alright and unharmed in Spring. 

Without further time to hesitate, Rhys shot from the bed, tossing on clothes and sliding into the hallway. There were no sounds in the empty night, everyone having retired for the evening. The halls here were eerie even in the best of times, but Rhys hated the creeping feeling that was unique to this cursed place. He crept along the rock-hewn hallways, moving as silently as a specter and listening for even the smallest of sounds. There were no signs that Amarantha had returned, her quarters still quiet as the grave as he walked past. He sensed no thoughts from within, and hoped it meant that she was asleep or gone. 

He walked through the last of the halls to the tunnels, easily finding the door where he’d released the bogge. It had only been days ago, but lost in these loops it felt like it could have been years, lifetimes. As soon as he left the stifling swell of the wards, he was winnowing, taking the short bursts to Spring. The closer he got, the clearer the air smelled, that comforting and familiar tang of moss and honeysuckle and grass prickling at his senses. Long ago, he’d considered this place another home. 

He shook his head at the thought on his final winnow, arriving at the edge of the Spring woods, the magic of Tamlin’s wards shattering at a mere touch. 

Tamlin still couldn’t be bothered to fix his shitty border magic, despite the circumstances. No loops ever seemed to change that. Rhys could see the manor up ahead, a towering mass of marble and vines in the moonlight. The air around him was so warm it nearly felt like floating in a still sea as he moved closer and closer, following that lively trail of lilac and pear to the window he remembered as hers. 

That felt like years ago now, too, since he’d come here to find her and Tamlin embracing in their sleep. He shook his head again as if to dislodge the image as he materialized on the balcony’s edge. The security here would be laughable if it didn’t make him worried for Feyre’s safety. 

She slept with the balcony doors flung open, the gentle breezes of Spring dancing over her skin. This time, blessedly, Feyre was alone in the bed. She was faced away from him, curled on one side with her hands tucked beneath her chin. He could see the freckles across the bare expanse of her shoulders, and just like before, he ached to touch them. Rhys released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding, the tension already allowing his shoulders to sink back down. Just the sight of her, her mere presence, worked like a balm on his soul. 

He looked over to the door, laughing at the haphazard trap she’d rigged up for anyone daring to enter. By his calculations, she hadn’t been in Spring for long. She and Tamlin were clearly not together yet. An emotion flashed in his chest at the huntress’ rope and curtain contraption at the door, an odd flare of something at her audacity, her will. It was becoming harder and harder to not feel things for this ferocious human girl, the ache within him calling to her even when it would all be so much easier if it didn’t. 

But there she was, sleeping peacefully and silently on the bed. She wasn’t dead, wasn’t broken. Her throat wasn’t ripped out, she was not being taken by wounds or choking to death, and Rhys could hear the steady thrumming of her heart from the open doors. It took every bit of his willpower to not slip inside the room, to inhale that sweet, light smell of her greedily like a man starved at his final supper. 

Rhys knew what the right move was. Feyre was safe and dreaming and that should be all he cared about, especially since she wasn’t with Tamlin. But…

But…

No. 

It was not Rhys’s place to be here. He had come to see that she was well, and she looked well. This Feyre didn’t know him, and even the Feyres that did know him wouldn’t have wanted him lurking in her bedroom while she slept. He had to admit he felt a little bad about skulking around Spring to watch her sleeping in the first place, and that creeping thought of truly being the creature of nightmares bit at him. But he’d needed to see her, assure himself that she was living and breathing and okay. Seeing her comfortable and at peace was enough for him. If all went well, he was sure he’d see her again soon enough. 

After giving her one more look, committing the soft sighs and smooth lines of her face to memory, Rhys turned to go. But as he turned to step back through the balcony doors and take off into the night, her sweet voice permeated the air. He whipped around faster than a flash of light, worried he’d been caught, but Feyre still slept, turned towards him now, her eyes shut tightly and a murmur on her lips. 

Rhys stood shell shocked, unable to draw his eyes away from her form, naked from the waist up. He couldn’t look away from her, even if he’d tried, his mouth suddenly dry and jaw slack. She moved again beneath the sheets, the seam of them dropping even lower down her waist against her writhing. 

The smell of her arousal hit him like a brick, and suddenly he was grasping the door frame, cracking it beneath his hands in his grip before his mind could catch up. It was like getting hit with a tidal wave–a heavily perfumed, absolutely delicious tidal wave. Rhys wasn’t one to fall to his baser needs, but the scent was the most overwhelming thing he’d ever experienced. His grip on the doors tightened and the wood warped and cracked beneath his palms. He couldn’t inhale fast or wholly enough, filling his lungs greedily with the scent of her. 

His Feyre.

He needed to leave right this second. He needed to get out of there before he did something he would regret.

Touch, claim, mine.

Turning from the room was the most difficult thing that Rhys had ever done in five centuries of living. Moving away from the delicious smell of her nearly broke him, but he needed to go before it was too late. As he turned to jump and winnow, her voice rang out quietly into the silence, so soft that he nearly questioned if he’d heard it at all. 

“Who are you?” His eyes shot to hers, but he found them still closed, eyelashes settled on her freckled cheek. She moved her hand over her face, rubbing the heel of her palm into her eye as she sank down further in the plush down of the pillows. “Come back.”

Now that she’d beckoned him, called out as though just for him, he knew he couldn’t leave her, even if he should. He could deny his painter nothing. 

She rustled beneath the sheets again, murmuring and moaning softly, and Rhys slipped quietly and gently into her mind, just for a moment, he swore to himself. 

Rhys was immediately struck by the smell of her, somehow even more potent than before. In her dream, she was on the same bed, the soft light of the moon filtering in through the windows. She was no longer sleeping beneath the covers, but kneeling, her legs spread wide and naked save for a pair of lacy, navy underclothes.

There on the bed, there was a figure curled lovingly behind her, his hand over hers as it moved methodically within her underwear. The figure was blurred, features not clear in the dreamlike state they were in. It looked nearly like a watercolor, the purples and blacks and blues all running together and unfocused. Rhys walked around the bed, keeping his eyes on Feyre’s writhing frame. The realization struck him as solidly as her scent had, the equivalent of running straight into a marble wall. It was him who cradled Feyre in his arms, the raven black hair and violet eyes beholding himself like a mirror as the hazy image came into focus.

He hadn’t projected that–hadn’t gone into her head to touch her. Had she been dreaming of him as he'd dreamed of her? His little painter…had some memory stuck, or was she dreaming of him in all the loops before they'd met? Had it been him the same way that he'd seen her in his?

He wove those tendrils of power out into the fabric of her dreams, caressing the fragments of sparkling night over the mirror image of him that had hands on her. With a flick of his wrist, dream Rhys was gone, the open air suddenly cold behind Feyre causing her eyes to fly open and land directly on him. 

Rhys stuttered a step, ceasing his motions. She shouldn't be able to see him here, not unless he'd willed it. But she was staring right at him all the same, a blush rising on her cheeks. 

Rhys was entranced by her, his eyes darting across her freckles, her smile, her hooded eyes, too much and not enough of every little bit of her, as though he couldn't pick just one thing to behold. 

Despite dream-Rhys’s removal, Feyre had not removed her own hand, keeping it pressed motionless to herself.

“Hello.” Her voice was thick and smooth as honey, and just as sweet, the sound coiling around Rhys’s ears and going straight to the base of his spine. Feyre looked at him from beneath lowered lashes, and his body itched to step closer. “You came back.” Rhys nodded, the action entirely out of his hands, still completely unsure of how she could see him in this dream without him willing it. 

She stayed as still as a statue, eyes firmly planted on Rhys. “Will you tell me your name this time?”

“Rhysand,” he answered without thinking, without planning, cursing himself inwardly as the word left his mouth. But Feyre just smiled demurely at him, the motion lighting up her entire face. 

“Hello, Rhysand. I'm Feyre.” 

“Hello, Feyre darling.” The greeting purred out of him as naturally as anything, and he could see her breath catch. She sat back on her haunches, that beautiful blush creeping to her neck and decolletage, but still, her hand remained where it was.

“I've dreamed of you before. But you never interact with me. It’s always just flashes, but you're here now.” Her voice had dropped, the husky tone of it driving home that force of arousal building within him. She was so beautiful, so lovely. And in this loop, even if it was just a dream, she wanted him. “This is another dream, right?”

He shouldn't. This was wrong . 

She thought it was just a dream, that there was nothing to it. But the way she was looking at him, the way she smelled. He inhaled again, even halfway into her mind the scent was overwhelming. The loveliest thing he'd ever had the pleasure of scenting. 

“This can be whatever you want it to be, darling.” He saw her breathe in deep, nostrils flaring as her wide eyes fixed on him.

“Would you, I mean, if you–” Her words failed her, but the intent was clear as she began to move those fingers that had been stilled the whole time. 

It was an invitation. She wanted him, her open blue eyes begging for contact. 

Fuck it. 

“Would you like a hand, love?” He could see the hitch in her throat as she inhaled, her eyes sparkling at the timbre of his voice. She was so responsive, her nipples tightening against the thin lace of her top and leaving nothing to the imagination, and he took a single unbidden step towards her. 

She nodded eagerly. “Please.” He felt delirious with want.

Rhys bit back a groan. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it in all these loops, what her skin would feel like against his, her soft warmth against the hard planes of his body. He circled the bed and watched as she took another deep breath, letting her eyes slip closed. He magicked his boots and tunic away, leaving him behind her in nothing but pants as he crawled into the bed. 

It isn't a good idea, his thoughts whispered, but as he touched her shoulder and a crackle of something zapped through his veins, he knew he wasn't going to stop unless she asked him to. 

She sighed languidly as his fingers danced over her shoulders and played up and down the sides of her neck. He pressed the length of his exposed torso against her back, her skin scalding against his at the contact. He swallowed back a sigh that seemed to emerge from him unbidden, but Feyre simply laid her head back on his shoulder, wordlessly expressing the level of comfort she already felt at his presence in her dreams. 

Rhys ran his hands along Feyre's sides, watching as her flesh prickled in response. His fingers slowly crept higher and higher, the silky smooth texture of her skin driving him wild. 

“Touch me.” Her voice was a whisper of smoke in the wind, but nothing had ever sounded clearer to him. 

He didn't need to be told twice, his magic racing out to mist the thin layers of lace into oblivion. His deft fingers wasted no time in cupping her breasts, feeling the heavy weight of them in his large hands and tugging gently on her nipples as she let out the most delicious sound he thought he might have ever heard. Her soft sighs and gentle moans were like music to his ears, her whimpers a song that he’d been waiting for his entire life. He touched her chest, gently and playfully touching and circling them until Feyre was gasping and wiggling in front of him, her body rubbing against his like a cat in heat. He was painfully hard by the time she was begging and pleading for his hands to move lower, pulling them with her own until they reached her sex. 

Rhys hardly managed to bite back a groan of his own when he ran his fingers through her wet heat. She was soaked entirely through, her arousal running down her thighs as he spread her open with his fingers. 

“All for me, Feyre?”

“Gods, please .” 

He grinned as he pressed hot, open mouthed kisses to her neck and shoulders, dipping his fingers barely into her and circling them around her as she cried out. Nothing has ever felt as good as Feyre trembling against him, nothing had ever sounded as nice as his name on her lips. 

“Rhysand,” she gasped as he pressed a finger into her warmth. 

“Rhys. Just Rhys.” 

“Rhys,” she murmured, turning her face to his and capturing his lips with hers. When their mouths met, Rhys swore the world shifted on its axis, the arousal and emotion and feeling in his chest threatening to explode under the pressure. The light around them went soft and hazy as they moved together, the glow blurring around them like the dream was ebbing in and out with their shared breaths.

He added another finger as she undulated against him, each and every point of contact shooting sparks into his bloodstream as he gasped aloud. She responded by doubling down, reaching behind her to toy with the waistband of his pants. 

He felt nearly embarrassed, reduced back to a youngling as he bucked forward into her touch, his rhythm momentarily stuttering. 

He tried to pull back, resuming his own ministrations, but she wrapped her fingers into his waistband and pulled him back to her.  

“I want to touch you.” He couldn't argue with that. 

Rhys shoved his pants down, his erection jutting against her back. Feyre wasted no time in grabbing it with enthusiasm, Rhys's mind reeling with the pleasure of it as she began stroking up and down the length of him. The movements were somewhat jerking with the angle, and Rhys still thought as he brushed against the cheeks of her ass, that it might be the most magnificent thing he’d ever felt. Despite the angle, the rush of it all overtook them quickly, the natural back and forth of it seeming as easy as breathing. Before long, they were both a breathy mess, her head resting back against his shoulder and his forehead against her neck while they moved together. 

“You're exquisite,” he whispered into her hair, the smell of her so potent and overwhelmingly lovely at this proximity. 

He could feel her fluttering around his fingers, feel the echoes of her impending orgasm grasping at him desperately while she moved her hand faster around him. Rhys was glad she was close because he was losing control, the feelings thundering through his chest and threatening to burn him alive wrapping down around the base of his spine. 

He pressed the heel of his hand into her as he pistoned his fingers in and out, the movements becoming more intense as she responded in turn, their touch reaching a crescendo. 

“Come for me, Feyre.” 

She clenched around him. “Only if you come with me,” she responded huskily, even as she herself tipped over the edge. Rhys followed immediately, his vision nearly blacking out for a moment as he did. 

He wasn't sure when he'd eased them to the bed, their breathing evening out between their twisted limbs, sticky with sweat and cooling in the Spring night air. Rhys felt weightless, the dream or the satisfaction allowing the pull of the world to work differently around them. He brushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear and tugging her back to his chest tightly. 

“That was incredible,” she whispered, and Rhys fought the urge to preen. 

“It was. You are.” 

She laughed softly, turning her head to look at him. Her eyes looked like the sky after a storm, the heavy clouds that used to roll in over the snowy peaks of Illyria. Home. 

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and Rhys wondered if he'd ever felt so sated in his life. His time here was limited, but he was going to enjoy every single second he had allowed himself.

She had dreamed of him, recognized him. She had wanted him here. 

“Will I see you again?” she murmured quietly as he brushed his fingers up and down over her thighs and hips. Her eyes were already beginning to flutter shut. 

“I would be willing to put money on it.” His voice was tinged with relief, with laughter, with joy he had not felt in ages.  

“Do you have to go?”

“I’m sorry, Feyre. I do.” 

She was mostly asleep by now, sighing lightly as her eyelids finally shut and stayed closed. “I’ll see you soon, Rhys.” He smiled despite himself, brushing his fingers lightly across her forehead then placing a kiss there as her breathing evened out. 

He carefully eased himself out of her mind. Outside of her dream, he was still leaning against the door to the balcony, the distance between them feeling near-painful now, a throbbing ache in his chest that demanded he step closer. Rhys resisted this time, knowing that the dawn would be coming soon and turning from the room with one final look at his painter. 

As he winnowed back to the grounds, walking around the property to the woodline under the cover of remaining night, his thoughts were lighter than they’d been since all this loop nonsense had begun. She’d dreamed of him, his face, his voice, his touch. If she could seek him out in her dreams this way, think of him as a soothing presence instead of something evil, how might that change the future of the loop? 

Next time, it could be familiarity and not fear or mistrust that guided their interactions. 

Why hadn’t he considered this before? It changed everything . 

Rhys rounded the final corner of the manor that bordered the woods, light on his feet and his spirit buoyed with this newfound, unfamiliar, but welcome hope. 

The last thing he saw was the form of a sentry, the sword already flying through the air and aimed directly at his neck.  

Well, fuck.

[sweetdreamspootypie]

hey, saw your tags on my iStop notice and had to say something. if you're a nurse you really gotta take the can't leave port accessed thing super seriously. I think it may apply to all IVs but I have a port so that's what I know.

I don't think I was explicit about it: the reason it is so highly illegal has nothing to do with infection. it is specifically to prevent people from having IV access for illegal drug use.

so imagine how I feel about the port being left in now that I know what they think I wanted from the hospital.

@kelpforestdwellers

(idk how tumblr does notifications for asks so figured I'd tag you)

Yeah that makes sense as the reasoning

But still

Plenty of people have central lines out in the community - people on chemo, long term antibiotics, dyalisis, gastroparesis patients who are TPN / IV hydration / IV antiemetic dependant. And those are just the ones I have met going through y particular ward which is general medical, not specialized.

I know you have been / are going through a very long and frustrating process around getting it added to your official care plan and being properly facilitated to access your port at home.

But I have assumed that's just bureaucratic paperwork nonsense about like. Which doctor wants to put their signature to it that they've done due diligence about risk management with you. And stuff about who's job it was to organise it for you.

As opposed to being issues with just having an accessed port at home itself.

It is obviously a huge fuckup to have an /accidentally/ accessed port - but that's still to my mind mostly about infection control.

If they did actually think you were at risk of unsafe IV drug use then yes that is also a major beach of duty of care.

I just had a quick scroll through your blog and you haven't said anything about the process of discharge besides the fact that there was back and forth about when it would be. So tbh I'm confused how you also didn't know it was still accessed, as it's a whole process to de-access it unless you were expecting procedures to be done while you are unconscious. But there was so much other things you were chasing for a safe discharge that I guess it just got forgotten for you.

It sounds like that ward were not confident with the port - you mentioned them getting snotty about doing a blood draw - which is wild to me, because central lines are amazing for that. It's so easy to do a blood draw, we love it. Especially ports! Way easier than PICCs. The only issue is that a phlebotomist will not do patients with central lines, so the nurse has to do it. So it's not a 'patient refused' it's a 'not done on pleb round - awaiting nurse to do it's

So the fact that that happened implies a high percentage of nurses there aren't familiar with central lines, which almost certainly contributed to it not being on their mental checklist for when you left.

Which is a silly situation but also kinda familiar. One of our gastroparesis patients has a standing plan that if she ever needs to go to hospital, she will access her port herself and draw her own blood samples at home before she goes, because it's not worth dealing with ER staff where nobody is confident to initially access a port.

Anyway yeah

I can see the reasoning about it being bad to have an unplanned IV access for drug abuse concerns

But I still would absolutely not blink an eye about a patient coming in from home or going home with central line access. But it should be part of a clearly documented plan for discharge.

I'm in aotearoa though, so different laws obviously. If there is something similar here, I wonder if it's one of those things where they tell you as part of putting the port in in the first place, but. For anyone else it's not relevent.

I hope things start moving for you for being able to access it safely at home.